clever as ours," laughed the Countess; "for
they manage many little affairs their own women never suspect."

Mrs. McVeigh looked displeased. To her it was not a matter of
cleverness, but of principle and morality; and in her mind there was
absolutely no comparison possible without jarring decidedly on the
prejudices of her Gallic friends, so she let the remark pass without
comment.

"Yes," said the Marquise, rising, "when I heard the story of the girl
Rhoda I fancied it one the white mistresses of America seldom heard."

"Rhoda?"

"Yes, that was the name the girl was known by in the school--Rhoda
Larue--the Larue was a fiction; slaves, I am told, having no legal
right to names."

"Heavens! What horrors you fancy! Pray give us some music child, and
drive away the gloomy pictures you have suggested."

"An easy penance;" and the Marquise moved smilingly towards the
alcove.

"What!" cried the Countess Helene, in protest, "and the story
unfinished! Why, it might develop into a romance. I dote on romances
in real life or fiction, but I like them all spelled out for me to the
very end."

"Instead of a romance, I should fancy the girl's life very prosaic
wherever it is lived," returned the Marquise. "But before her year at
the convent had quite expired she made her escape--took no one into
her confidence; and when her guardian, or his agent, came to claim
her, there were storms, apologies, but no ward."

"And you do not call that a romance?" said the Countess. "I do; it
offers all sorts of possibilities."

"Yes, the possibility of this;" and Mrs. McVeigh pointed to the
picture before them. The Marquise halted, looked curiously at the
speaker, then regarded the oriental face on the canvas thoughtfully,
and passed her hand over her brow with a certain abstraction.

"I never thought of that," she said slowly. "You poor creature!" and
she took a step nearer the picture. "I--never--thought of that! Maman,
Madame McVeigh has just taught me something--to be careful, careful
how we judge the unfortunate. They say this Kora is a light woman in
morals; but suppose--suppose somewhere the life that girl told of in
the convent really does exist, and suppose this pretty Kora had been
one of the victims chosen! Should we dare then to judge her by our
standards, Maman? I think not."

Without awaiting an opinion she walked slowly into the alcove, and
left the three ladies gazing at each other with a trifle of constraint
mingle