lf, one sweetheart is enough," laughingly said
the musician.

"Only one! Well, here's to her! With this nectar fit for the gods and
goddesses of Olympus, let us drink to her," said old Sanders, with
convivial dignity, his glass raised on high. "Here's wishing health and
happiness to the dreamy-eyed Tuscan beauty, whom you love and who loves
you."

"Stop!" said Diotti; "we will drink to the first part of that toast,"
and holding his glass against that of his bibulous host, continued: "To
the dreamy-eyed women of my country, exacting of their lovers; obedient
to their parents and loyal to their husbands," and his voice rose in
sonorous rhythm with the words.

"Now for the rest of the toast, to the one you love and who loves you,"
came from Sanders.

"To the one I love and who loves me, God bless her!" fervently cried
the guest.

"Is she a Tuscan?" asked old Sanders slyly.

"She is an angel!" impetuously answered the violinist.

"Then she is an American!" said the old man gallantly.

"She is an American," repeated Diotti, forgetting himself for the
instant.

"Let me see if I can guess her name," said old Sanders. "It's--it's
Mildred Wallace!" and his manner suggested a child solving a riddle.

The violinist, about to speak, checked himself and remained silent.

"I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she falls in love," abstractedly
continued the host while filling another glass.

"Pray why?" was anxiously asked.

The old man shifted his position and assumed a confidential tone and
attitude: "Signor Diotti, jealousy is a more universal passion than
love itself. Environment may develop our character, influence our
tastes and even soften our features, but heredity determines the
intensity of the two leading passions, love and jealousy. Mildred's
mother was a beautiful woman, but consumed with an overpowering
jealousy of her husband. It was because she loved him. The body-guard
of jealousy--envy, malice and hatred--were not in her composition.
When Mildred was a child of twelve I have seen her mother suffer the
keenest anguish because Mr. Wallace fondled the child. She thought the
child had robbed her of her husband's love."

"Such a woman as Miss Wallace would command the entire love and
admiration of her husband at all times," said the artist.

"If she should marry a man she simply likes, her chances for happiness
would be normal."

"In what manner?" asked the lover.

"Because she would be little concern