To Louise she said, before going: 

“I’m to have an evening, the nineteenth.  Will you assist me to receive?  Now that we are acquainted I wish to see more of you, my dear, and I predict we shall get along famously together.”

The girl’s head swam.  Help Miss Von Taer to receive!  Such an honor had been undreamed of an hour ago.  But she held her natural agitation under good control and only a round red spot Upon each cheek betrayed her inward excitement as she prettily accepted the invitation.  Beneath their drooping lashes Diana’s sagacious eyes read the thoughts of the girl quite accurately.  Miss Von Taer enjoyed disconcerting anyone in any way, and Louise was so simple and unsophisticated that she promised to afford considerable amusement in the future.

By the time Diana had finished her brief call this singular creature had taken the measure of Louise Merrick in every detail, including her assumption of lightness and her various frivolities.  She understood that in the girl were capabilities for good or for evil, as she might be led by a stronger will.  And, musingly, Diana wondered who would lead her.

As for Louise, she was enraptured by her distinguished visitor’s condescension and patronage, and her heart bounded at the thought of being admitted to the envied social coterie in which Diana Von Taer shone a bright, particular star.

The second name in the list of John Merrick’s nieces was that of Elizabeth De Graf.  She lived at a good private hotel located in an exclusive residence district.

It was true that Elizabeth—­or “Beth,” as she was more familiarly called—­was not a permanent guest at this hotel.  When in New York she was accustomed to live with one or the other of her cousins, who welcomed her eagerly.  But just now her mother had journeyed from the old Ohio home to visit Beth, and the girl had no intention of inflicting her parent upon the other girls.  Therefore she had taken rooms at the hotel temporarily, and the plan suited her mother excellently.  For one thing, Mrs. De Graf could go home and tell her Cloverton gossips that she had stopped at the most “fashionable” hotel in New York; a second point was that she loved to feast with epicurean avidity upon the products of a clever chef, being one of those women who live to eat, rather than eat to live.

Mrs. De Graf was John Merrick’s only surviving sister, but she differed as widely from the simple, kindly man in disposition as did her ingenious daughter from her in mental attainments.  The father, Professor De Graf, was supposed to be a “musical genius.”  Before Beth came into her money, through Uncle John, the Professor taught the piano and singing; now, however, the daughter allowed her parents a liberal income, and the self-engrossed musician devoted himself to composing oratorios and concertas which no one but himself would ever play.  To be quite frank, the girl cared little for her gross and selfish parents,