nd unthinking public.

So it was with the thought of a wasted evening that he accompanied
Mildred to the concert.

The entertainment was a repetition of the others Diotti had given, and
at its end, Mildred said to her father: "Come, I want to congratulate
Signor Diotti in person."

"That is entirely unnecessary," he replied.

"It is my desire," and the girl led the unwilling parent back of the
scenes and into Diotti's dressing-room.

Mildred introduced Diotti to her father, who after a few commonplaces
lapsed into silence. The daughter's enthusiastic interest in Diotti's
performance and her tender solicitude for his weariness after the
efforts of the evening, quickly attracted the attention of Mr. Wallace
and irritated him exceedingly.

When father and daughter were seated in their carriage and were
hurriedly driving home, he said: "Mildred, I prefer that you have as
little to say to that man as possible."

"What do you object to in him?" she asked.

"Everything. Of what use is a man who dawdles away his time on a
fiddle; of what benefit is he to mankind? Do fiddlers build cities? Do
they delve into the earth for precious metals? Do they sow the seed
and harvest the grain? No, no; they are drones--the barnacles of
society."

"Father, how can you advance such an argument? Music's votaries offer
no apologies for their art. The husbandman places the grain within the
breast of Mother Earth for man's material welfare; God places music in
the heart of man for his spiritual development. In man's spring time,
his bridal day, music means joy. In man's winter time, his burial day,
music means comfort. The heaven-born muse has added to the happiness
of the world. Diotti is a great genius. His art brings rest and
tranquillity to the wearied and despairing," and she did not speak
again until they had reached the house.

The lights were turned low when father and daughter went into the
drawing-room. Mr. Wallace felt that he had failed to convince Mildred
of the utter worthlessness of fiddlers, big or little, and as one
dissatisfied with the outcome of a contest, re-entered the lists.

"He has visited you?"

"Yes, father."

"Often?"

"Yes, father," spoken calmly.

"Often?" louder and more imperiously repeated the father, as if there
must be some mistake.

"Quite often," and she sat down, knowing the catechizing would be
likely to continue for some minutes.

"How many times, do you think?"

She rose, walked in