and they in turn cared little for her beyond the value she afforded them in the way of dollars and cents.  So she had not lived at home, where constant quarrels and bickerings nearly drove her frantic, since Uncle John had adopted her.  In catering to this present whim of her mother, who longed to spend a few luxurious weeks in New York, Beth sacrificed more than might be imagined by one unacquainted with her sad family history.

Whimsical Major Doyle often called Uncle John’s nieces “the Three Graces”; but Beth was by odds the beauty of them all.  Splendid brown eyes, added to an exquisite complexion, almost faultless features and a superb carriage, rendered this fair young girl distinguished in any throng.  Fortunately she was as yet quite unspoiled, being saved from vanity by a morbid consciousness of her inborn failings and a sincere loathing for the moral weakness that prevented her from correcting those faults.  Judging Beth by the common standard of girls of her age, both failings and faults were more imaginary than real; yet it was her characteristic to suspect and despise in herself such weaknesses as others would condone, or at least regard leniently.  For here was a girl true and staunch, incapable of intrigue or deceit, frank and outspoken, all these qualities having been proven more than once.  Everyone loved Beth De Graf save herself, and at this stage of her development the influence of her cousins and of Uncle John had conspired to make the supersensitive girl more tolerant of herself and less morbid than formerly.

I think Beth knew of Diana Von Taer, for the latter’s portrait frequently graced the society columns of the New York press and at times the three nieces, in confidential mood, would canvass Diana and her social exploits as they did the acts of other famous semi-public personages.  But the girl had never dreamed of meeting such a celebrity, and Miss Von Taer’s card filled her with curious wonder as to the errand that had brought her.

The De Grafs lived en suite at the hotel, for Beth had determined to surround her Sybaritic mother with all attainable luxury, since the child frequently reproached herself with feeling a distinct repulsion for the poor woman.  So to-day Diana was ushered into a pretty parlor where Beth stood calmly awaiting her.

The two regarded one another in silence a moment, Miss De Graf’s frank eyes covering the other with a comprehensive sweep while Miss Von Taer’s narrowed gaze, profoundly observant, studied the beautiful girl before her with that impenetrable, half-hidden gleam that precluded any solution.

“Miss Von Taer, I believe,” said Beth, quietly glancing at the card she held.  “Will you be seated?”

Diana sank gracefully into a chair.  The sinuous motion attracted Beth’s attention and gave her a slight shiver.

“I am so glad to meet you, my dear,” began the visitor, in soft, purring accents.  “I have long promised myself the pleasure of a call, and in spite of many procrastinations at last have accomplished my ambition.”