They took a few turns, then he stopped.
"You are tired," he said: "will you let me take you into the cool?"
He drew her arm through his, but instead of "taking her into the cool," as he phrased it, in his genial way, he marched straight up to the countess.
"Lady Wyndward," he said; and his clear, musical voice was just audible to those around, "your daughter has been too gracious to her devoted adherents, and tired herself in the mazy dance. I resign her to your maternal care."
Stella would have shrunk back, but the countess, who knew what was due to royalty, rose and took the fair, round arm in her matronly one.
"Come," she said, "his royal highness is right – you must rest."
All in a dream, Stella allowed herself to be led into a shaded recess, all fresh with ferns and exotica. Then she woke, and murmuring —
"Thank you," was for flying; but the countess held out her arms suddenly, and for the first time – well, for many years – burst into tears, not noisy sobbing, but quiet, flooding tears.
"Oh, my dear!" she murmured, brokenly. "Forgive me! I am only a proud, wicked old woman!"
Stella was in her arms in an instant, and thus Leycester found them.
When old Lady Longford heard of this scene, she was immensely amused in her cynical way.
"It would have served you right my dear," she told the countess, "if she had turned round and said, 'Yes, you are a very wicked old woman,' and walked off."
So Stella's cup of happiness was full to the brim.
It is not empty yet, and will not be while Love stands with upraised hand to replenish it.
She is a girl still, even now that there is a young Leycester to run about the old man's studio and upset the pictures and add to the litter, and it is the old painter's oft expressed opinion that she will be a girl to the end of the chapter.
"Stella, you see," he is fond of remarking, whenever he hears her sweet voice carolling about the little cottage – and it is as often heard there as at the Hall – "Stella, you see, was born in Italy, and Italians – good Italians – never grow old. They manage to keep a heart alive in their bosoms and laughter on their lips at a period when people of colder climes are gloomy and morosely composing their own epitaphs. There is one comfort for you, Leycester, you have got a wife who will never grow old."