ing but the
present."

"Well, that is right. It is my wish to have you happy. As far as
material things go, too, your future shall be assured; I see to that.
But, you are twenty-three years old, Karen; you are a woman, and a child
no longer. Do you never dream dreams of _un prince charmant_; of a home
of your own, and children, and a life to build with one who loves you?
If I were to die--and one can count on nothing in life--you would be
very desolate."

Karen, for some silent moments, looked at her guardian, intently and
with a touch of alarm. "No; I don't dream," she said then. "And perhaps
that is because you fill my life so, Tante. If someone came who loved me
very much and whom I loved, I should of course be glad to marry;--only
not if it would take me from you; I mean that I should want to be often
with you. And when I look forward at all I always take it for granted
that that will come in time--a husband and children, and a home of my
own. But there seems no reason to think of it now. I am quite contented
as I am."

The kindly melancholy of Madame von Marwitz's gaze continued to fix her.
"But I am not contented for you," she observed. "I wish to see you
established. Youth passes, all too quickly, and its opportunities pass,
too. I should blame myself if our tie were to cut you off from a wider
life. Good husbands are by no means picked up on every bush. One cannot
take these things for granted. It is of a possible marriage I wish to
speak to you this morning, my Karen. We will talk of it quietly." Madame
von Marwitz raised herself in her chair to stretch her hand and take
from the mantelpiece a letter lying there. "This came this morning, my
Karen," she said. "From our good Lise Lippheim."

Frau Lippheim was a warm-hearted, talented, exuberant Jewess who had
been a fellow student of Madame von Marwitz's in girlhood. The
eagle-flights of genius had always been beyond her, yet her pinions were
wide and, unburdened by domestic solicitudes, she might have gone far.
As it was, married to a German musician much her inferior, and immersed
in the care and support of a huge family, she ranked only as second or
third rate. She gave music-lessons in Leipsig and from time to time,
playing in a quintet made up of herself, her eldest son and three eldest
girls, gave recitals in Germany, France and England. The Lippheim
quintet, in its sober way, held a small but dignified position.

Karen had been deposited by her gua