ith the tears again rising.

He sat looking at her, and then he said, 'Well, when they _are_
married?'

'I don't know the future--I don't know what may happen.'

'You mean that Tishy is so small--she doesn't grow--and will therefore
be difficult? Yes, she _is_ small.' There was bitterness in his heart,
but he laughed at his own words. 'However, Effie ought to go off
easily,' he went on, as Dora said nothing. 'I really wonder that, with
the Marquise and all, she hasn't gone off yet. This thing, to-night,
ought to do a great deal for her.'

Dora listened to him with a fascinated gaze; it was as if he expressed
things for her and relieved her spirit by making them clear and
coherent. Her eyes managed, each time, to be dry again, and now a
somewhat wan, ironical smile moved her lips. 'Mamma knows what she
wants--she knows what she will take. And she will take only that.'

'Precisely--something tremendous. And she is willing to wait, eh? Well,
Effie is very young, and she's charming. But she won't be charming if
she has an ugly appendage in the shape of a poor unsuccessful American
artist (not even a good one), whose father went bankrupt, for a
brother-in-law. That won't smooth the way, of course; and if a prince is
to come into the family, the family must be kept tidy to receive him.'
Dora got up quickly, as if she could bear his lucidity no longer, but he
kept close to her as she walked away. 'And she can sacrifice you like
that, without a scruple, without a pang?'

'I might have escaped--if I would marry,' the girl replied.

'Do you call that escaping? She has succeeded with you, but is it a part
of what the Marquise calls her _succes de bonte_?'

'Nothing that you can say (and it's far worse than the reality) can
prevent her being delightful.'

'Yes, that's your loyalty, and I could shoot you for it!' he exclaimed,
making her pause on the threshold of the adjoining room. 'So you think
it will take about ten years, considering Tishy's size--or want of
size?' He himself again was the only one to laugh at this. 'Your mother
is closeted, as much as she can be closeted now, with Madame de Brives,
and perhaps this time they are really settling something.'

'I have thought that before and nothing has come. Mamma wants something
so good; not only every advantage and every grandeur, but every virtue
under heaven, and every guarantee. Oh, she wouldn't expose them!'

'I see; that's where her goodness comes in and where