d of wealth to that woman's life tragedy.

With a teacup in her hand Irene stood in the opposite door and
looked at her mother uneasily, keenly, with such attention that
her eyelids blinked repeatedly. Far from her now were those dry
and sneering smiles in conversation with the baron. But she
passed through the room calmly and sat in front of her mother.

"It seems that the play of to-night did not amuse you much,
mamma." She looked into the teacup so steadily that she could not
see her mother's tears or expression of face. But that face grew
bright on a sudden and was covered with an unrestrained smile.

"Is Cara sleeping?" inquired she.

"Of course; her room is quite silent, and so is Miss Mary's. Why
do you not drink tea, mamma?"

Malvina raised the spoon slowly to her lips, and Irene began to
speak calmly:

"I heard very unexpected news to-day. It seems that father has
told Prince Zeno, who inquired about the matter, that he will not
consent to my marriage with Baron Blauendorf."

"Why call that news unexpected?" asked Malvina, looking at her
daughter.

Irene shrugged her shoulders slowly.

"I did not suppose that father would devote his precious time to
things so trivial. This is unexpected and may bring trouble."

"What trouble?" inquired Malvina, with alarm.

"Father's opinions and mine may be in opposition."

"In that case your opinion will yield."

"I doubt that. I have my plans, my needs, my tastes; of these
father can know nothing."

They were silent rather long; during this time Malvina raised her
eyes to her daughter repeatedly, with the intent to say
something, but she was unable, or at least she hesitated. At last
she inquired in irresolute, almost timid, tones:

"Irene, do you love him?"

"Do I love the baron?"

These words coming from the lips of the young girl expressed
immense astonishment.

"If Baron Emil should hear that question he would be the first to
call it Arcadian or great-grandfatherly." And she laughed. "That
is one of those things which do not exist, or which, at least,
are changeable, temporary, dependent on the state of the nerves
and the imagination. I have a cool imagination and calm nerves. I
can do without painted pots."

As these words came slowly and coldly from the lips of her
daughter, Malvina straightened herself, and her face was covered
with a faint blush. She had preserved the rare, and at her age
even wonderful, faculty of blushing.

"Ira!" cried