the more anxious to claim such a man, the victory seems
greater, yet it is more natural to find them reciprocal. Perhaps there
is a betrothed somewhere to whom he has sworn allegiance in its most
rigid form; is that the reason?"

Mrs. McVeigh smiled. She rather liked to think her son not so
susceptible as Frenchmen pretended to be.

"I do not think there are any vows of allegiance," she confessed; "but
there is someone at home to whom we have assigned him since they were
children."

"Truly? But I fancied the parents did not arrange the affairs
matrimonial in your country."

"We do not; that is, not in a definite official way. Still, we are
allowed our little preferences, and sometimes we can help or hinder in
our own way. But this affair"--and she made a gesture towards the door
of her son's room, "this affair is in embryo yet."

"Good settlements?"

"Oh, yes; the girl is quite an heiress and is the niece of his
guardian--his guardian that was. Their estates join, and they have
always been fond of each other; so you see we have reason for our
hopes."

"Excellent!" agreed her friend, "and to conclude, I am to suppose of
course she is such a beauty that she blinds his eyes to all the charms
arrayed before him here."

"Well, we never thought of Gertrude as a beauty exactly; but she is
remarkably good looking; all the Lorings are. I would have had her
with me for this visit but that her uncle, with whom she lives, has
been very ill for months. They, also, are of colonial French descent
with, of course, the usual infusions of Anglo-Saxon and European blood
supposed to constitute the new American."

"The new--"

"Yes, you understand, we have yet the original American in our
land--the Indian."

"Ah!" with a gesture of repulsion; "the savages; and then, the
Africans! How brave you are, Claire. I should die of fear."

Mrs. McVeigh only smiled. She was searching through a portfolio, and
finally extracted a photograph from other pictures and papers.

"That is Miss Loring," she said, and handed it to the Countess, who
examined it with critical interest.

"Very pretty," she decided, "an English type. If she were a Parisian,
a modiste and hairdresser would do wonders towards developing her into
a beauty of the very rare, very fair order. She suggests a slender
white lily."

"Yes, Gertrude is a little like that," assented Mrs. McVeigh, and
placed the photograph on the mantel beside that of the very charming,
piq