d to hear from him."

Over her cup she glanced shrewdly at Sydney, who was enraged to feel
herself blushing.

When Baron von Rittenheim appeared in the evening, Sydney and the
Schuylers and John were just starting for the Hugers' dance.

"Surely you will go," the little Baroness had said, "and you will not
think of me one time."

"You ask too much," murmured John.

She glanced at her mourning with a look that might have meant yearning
for Max, or a desire to go to the ball.

Then she raised her eyes to Friedrich's, and Sydney was surprised to
see a look of anger sweep over her childish face. Seeking its cause she
found von Rittenheim's eyes fixed on herself, so full of love and
longing and sadness that her one wish was to comfort him. Involuntarily
she took a step towards him, and held out her hands. Then she
remembered herself, and swept him a low courtesy, as if in thanks for
the admiration of his gaze.

"You like my frock, M. le Baron?" she asked.

Von Rittenheim's eyes went to the fluffy white mass lying on the floor,
and rose again to her face.

"He's speechless with rapture, Sydney," said John.

"I am, indeed," said Friedrich, bowing with his hand on his heart.

"Then come on, Sydney, and let language flow once more." And Tom
dexterously threw her cape over her shoulders.

"See that? I've learned to do that really well since I was married.
I've been practising in private. Mrs. Schuyler, allow me." And he
repeated his performance and swept his flock before him to the door.

XX

Sacrifice

"I know that you two have much to say to each other," said Mrs.
Carroll, when the noise of departing wheels had died away. "Ring the
bell, Baron, please, and tell James to light the lamp in the little
sitting-room. And in considering your plans, let me beg both of you to
remember that it will be a pleasure to us all if the Baroness will stay
at Oakwood as long as she wishes."

Hilda ran to the elder woman in her childish, impulsive way, and
thanked her with many little German phrases of gratitude. Von
Rittenheim raised her hand to his lips and murmured,--

"You make my decision easier, dear lady."

In the little sitting-room Hilda established herself in a huge
arm-chair, whose high back cast a shadow on her face, and Friedrich, at
the window, drew in great breaths of sweet summer air. He turned to her
when Uncle Jimmy had gone.

"First tell me about Max."

"Yes, I must tell you about Max. I am af