eye--far from the thought of pearls
and swine--went over the letter.

"_Tiens, tiens_," Madame von Marwitz repeated; "the little Karen is
sought in marriage."

"Really," said Miss Scrotton, "how very fortunate for the poor little
thing. Who is the young man, and how, in heaven's name, has she secured
a young man in the wilds of Cornwall?"

Madame von Marwitz made no reply. She was absorbed in another letter.
And Miss Scrotton now perceived, with amazement and indignation, that
the one laid down was written in the hand of Gregory Jardine.

"You don't mean to tell me," Miss Scrotton said, after some moments of
hardly held patience, "that it's Gregory?"

Madame von Marwitz, having finished her second letter, was gazing before
her with a somewhat ambiguous expression.

"Tallie speaks well of him," she remarked at last. "He has made a very
good impression on Tallie."

"Are you speaking of Gregory Jardine, Mercedes?" Miss Scrotton repeated.

Madame von Marwitz now looked at her and as she looked the tricksy light
of malice again grew in her eye. "_Mais oui; mais oui._ You have guessed
correctly, my Scrotton," she said. "And you may read his letter. It is
pleasant to me to see that stiff, self-satisfied young man brought to
his knees. Read it, _ma chere_, read it. It is an excellent letter."

Miss Scrotton read, and, while she read, Madame von Marwitz's cold, deep
eyes rested on her, still vaguely smiling.

"How very extraordinary," said Miss Scrotton. She handed back the
letter.

"Extraordinary? Now, why, _ma bonne_?" her friend inquired, all limpid
frankness. "He looked indeed, a stockish, chill young man, of the
cold-nosed type--_ah, que je n'aime pas ca!_--but he is a good young
man; a most unimpeachable young man; and our little Karen has melted
him; how much his letter shows."

"Gregory Jardine is a very able and a very distinguished person," said
Miss Scrotton, "and of an excellent county family. His mother and mine
were cousins, as you know, and I have always taken the greatest interest
in him. One can't but wonder how the child managed it." Mercedes, she
knew, was drawing a peculiar satisfaction from her displeasure; but she
couldn't control it.

"Ah, the child is not a manager. She is so far from managing it, you
see, that she leaves it to me to manage. It touches and surprises me, I
confess, to find that her devotion to me rules her even at a moment like
this. Yes; Karen has pleased me very much."