genius. Now tell
me, do you know a single note of music?"

"Not one," was the quick reply.

"You know nothing of the keys, time, or anything else?"

"Why should I trouble myself when I could play without learning anything
of the kind?"

"But that kind of playing, Pauline, although it is very clever, would
not do for educated people."

"Is it not good enough for them?" she asked, serenely.

"No; one cannot help admiring it, but any educated person hearing you
would detect directly that you did not know your notes."

"Would they think much less of me on that account?" she asked, with the
same serenity.

"Yes; every one would think it sad to see so much talent wasted. You
must begin to study hard; you must learn to play by note, not by ear,
and then all will be well. You love music, Pauline?"

How the beautiful face glowed and the dark eyes shone.

"I love it," she said, "because I can put my whole soul into it--there
is room for one's soul in it. You will be shocked, I know, but that is
why I liked Comte's theories--because they filled my mind, and gave me
so much to think of."

"Were I in your place I should try to forget them, Pauline."

"You should have seen Sir Oswald's face when I told him I had read Comte
and Darwin. He positively groaned aloud."

And she laughed as she remembered his misery.

"I feel very much inclined to groan myself," said Miss Hastings. "You
shall have theories, or facts, higher, more beautiful, nobler, grander
far than any Comte ever dreamed. And now we must begin to work in real
earnest."

But Pauline Darrell did not move; her dark eyes were shadowed, her
beautiful face grew sullen and determined.

"You are going to spoil my life," she said. "Hitherto it has been a
glorious life--free, gladsome, and bright; now you are going to parcel
it out. There will be no more sunshiny hours; you are going to reduce me
to a kind of machine, to cut off all my beautiful dreams, my lofty
thoughts. You want to make me a formal, precise young lady, who will
laugh, speak, and think by rule."

"I want to make you a sensible woman, my dear Pauline," corrected Miss
Hastings, gravely.

"Who is the better or the happier for being so sensible?" demanded
Pauline.

She paused for a few minutes, and then she added, suddenly:

"Darrell Court and all the wealth of the Darrells are not worth it, Miss
Hastings."

"Not worth what, Pauline?"

"Not worth the price I must pay."

"What is the price