um and asked,
"Are you confident he loves her?"

"No. Even if he does not, he no doubt makes the pretense, and she
believes him. A man who fiddles for money is not likely to ignore an
opportunity to angle for the same commodity," and the banker, with a
look of scorn on his face, threw himself back into the chair.

"Does she know that you do not approve of this man?"

"I told her that I desired the musician's visits to cease."

"And her answer?"

"She said she would obey me if I could name one reasonable objection to
the man, and then, with an air of absolute confidence in the
impossibility of such a contingency, added, 'But you can not.'"

"Yes, but you must," said Sanders. "Mildred is strangely constituted.
If she loves this man, her love can be more deadly to the choice of her
heart than her hate to one she abhors. The impatience of restraint you
speak of and her very inability to brook opposition can be turned to
good account now." And old Sanders again tapped in the rhythm of a
dirge on his parchment-bound cranium.

"Your plan?" eagerly asked the father, whose confidence in his
secretary was absolute.

"I would like to study them together. Your position will be stronger
with Mildred if you show no open opposition to the man or his
aspirations; bring us together at your house some evening, and if I can
not enter a wedge of discontent, then they are not as others."

* * *

Mildred was delighted when her father told her on his return in the
evening that he was anxious to meet Signor Diotti, and suggested a
dinner party within a few days. He said he would invite Mr. Sanders, as
that gentleman, no doubt, would consider it a great privilege to meet
the famous musician. Mildred immediately sent an invitation to Diotti,
adding a request that he bring his violin and play for Uncle Sanders,
as the latter had found it impossible to attend his concerts during the
season, yet was fond of music, especially violin music.

X

The little dinner party passed off pleasantly, and as old Sanders
lighted his cigar he confided to Diotti, with a braggart's assurance,
that when he was a youngster he was the best fiddler for twenty miles
around. "I tell you there is nothing like a fiddler to catch a
petticoat," he said, with a sharp nudge of his elbow into Diotti's
ribs. "When I played the Devil's Dream there wasn't a girl in the
country could keep from dancing, and 'Rosalie, the Prairie Flower,'
brough