-very rich,--and there are so many pretty girls who are very
poor,--naturally they are enchanted with our Errington--_voyez-vous_?"

"I do not understand," she said, with a puzzled brow. "It is not
possible that they should like him better because he is rich. He would
be the same man without money as with it--it makes no difference!"

"Perhaps not to you," returned Duprez, with a smile; "but to many it
would make an immense difference! _Chere Mademoiselle_, it is a grand
thing to have plenty of money,--believe me!"

Thelma shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps," she answered indifferently.
"But one cannot spend much on one's self, after all. The nuns at Arles
used to tell me that poverty was a virtue, and that to be very rich was
to be very miserable. They were poor,--all those good women,--and they
were always cheerful."

"The nuns! _ah, mon Dieu!_" cried Duprez. "The darlings know not the
taste of joy--they speak of what they cannot understand! How should they
know what it is to be happy or unhappy, when they bar their great
convent doors against the very name of love!"

She looked at him, and her color rose.

"You always talk of _love_," she said, half reproachfully, "as if it
were so common a thing! You know it is sacred--why will you speak as if
it were all a jest?"

A strange emotion of admiring tenderness stirred Pierre's heart--he was
very impulsive and impressionable.

"Forgive me!" he murmured penitently. Then he added suddenly, "You
should have lived ages ago, _ma belle_,--the world of to-day will not
suit you! You will be made very sorrowful in it, I assure you,--it is
not a place for good women!"

She laughed. "You are morose," she said. "That is not like you! No one
is good,--we all live to try and make ourselves better."

"What highly moral converse is going on here?" inquired Lorimer,
strolling leisurely up to them. "Are you giving Duprez a lecture, Miss
Gueldmar? He needs it,--so do I. Please give me a scolding!"

And he folded his hands with an air of demure appeal.

A sunny smile danced in the girl's blue eyes. "Always you will be
foolish!" she said. "One can never know you because I am sure you never
show your real self to anybody. No,--I will not scold you, but I should
like to find you out!"

"To find me out!" echoed Lorimer. "Why, what do you mean?"

She nodded her bright head with much sagacity.

"Ah, I do observe you often! There is something you hide; it is like
when my father has