ed about him or his actions."

"Then you believe," said the musician, "that the man who loves her and
whom she loves should give her up because her chances of happiness
would be greater away from him than with him?"

"That would be an unselfish love," said the elder.

"Suppose they have declared their passion?" asked Diotti.

"A parting before doubt and jealousy had entered her mind would let the
image of her sacrificing lover live within her soul as a tender and
lasting memory; he always would be her ideal," and the accent old
Sanders placed on ALWAYS left no doubt of his belief.

"Why should doubt and jealousy enter her life?" said the violinist,
falling into the personal character of the discussion despite himself.

"My dear sir, from what I observed to-night, she loves you. You are a
dangerous man for a jealous woman to love. You are not a cloistered
monk, you are a man before the public; you win the admiration of many;
some women do not hesitate to show you their preference. To a woman
like Mildred that would be torture; she could not and would not
separate the professional artist from the lover or husband."

And Diotti, remembering Mildred's words, could not refute the old man's
statements.

"If you had known her mother as I did," continued the old man,
realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist, "you
would see the agony in store for the daughter if she married a man such
as you, a public servant, a public favorite."

"I would live my life not to excite her suspicions or jealousy," said
the artist, with boyish enthusiasm and simplicity.

"Foolish fellow," retorted Sanders, skeptically; "women imagine, they
don't reason. A scented note unopened on the dressing table can cause
more unhappiness to your wife than the loss of his country to a king.
My advice to you is: do not marry; but if you must, choose one who is
more interested in your gastronomic felicity than in your marital
constancy."

Diotti was silent. He was pondering the words of his host. Instead of
seeing in Mildred a possibly jealous woman, causing mental misery, she
appeared a vision of single-hearted devotion. He felt: "To be loved by
such a one is bliss beyond the dreams of this world."

XII

A tipsy man is never interesting, and Sanders in that condition was no
exception. The old man arose with some effort, walked toward the window
and, shading his eyes, looked out. The snow was drifting, swept hither
and t