he violinist, said: "Magnificent! I never have heard better
playing! What is the make of your violin?"

Diotti, startled at this question, hurriedly put the instrument in its
case; "Oh, it is a famous make," he drawled.

"Will you let me examine it?" said the elder, placing his hand on the
case.

"I never allow any one to touch my violin," replied Diotti, closing
the cover quickly.

"Why; is there a magic charm about it, that you fear other hands may
discover?" queried the old man.

"I prefer that no one handle it," said the _virtuoso_ commandingly.

"Very well," sighed the old man resignedly, "there are violins and
violins, and no doubt yours comes within that category," this half
sneeringly.

"Uncle," interposed Mildred tactfully, "you must not be so persistent.
Signor Diotti prizes his violin highly and will not allow any one to
play upon it but himself," and the look of relief on Diotti's face
amply repaid her.

Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, and with perfunctory interest in
his guest, invited him to examine the splendid collection of
revolutionary relics in his study.

"I value them highly," said the banker, "both for patriotic and
ancestral reasons. The Wallaces fought and died for their country, and
helped to make this land what it is."

The father and the violinist went to the study, leaving the daughter
and old Sanders in the drawing-room. The old man, seating himself in a
large armchair, said: "Mildred, my dear, I do not wonder at the
enormous success of this Diotti."

"He is a wonderful artist," replied Mildred; "critics and public alike
place him among the greatest of his profession."

"He is a good-looking young fellow, too," said the old man.

"I think he is the handsomest man I ever have seen," replied the girl.

"Where does he come from?" continued Sanders.

"St. Casciano, a small town in Tuscany."

"Has he a family?"

"Only a sister, whom he loves dearly," good-naturedly answered the
girl.

"And no one else?" continued the seemingly garrulous old man.

"None that I have heard him speak of. No, certainly not," rather
impetuously replied Mildred.

"How old is he?" continued the old man.

"Twenty-eight next month; why do you wish to know?" she quizzically
asked.

"Simply idle curiosity," old Sanders carelessly replied. "I wonder if
he is in love with any one in Tuscany?"

"Of course not; how could he be?" quickly rejoined the girl.

"And why not?" added old Sanders.