“Very frankly, Miss Monfort, I don’t care for pictures at all, unless for good landscapes.  I am cloyed with them.  And as to German books, I never want to see another.  The old ‘Deer-Stealer’ was worth all they have ever written put together, in my opinion.  I love the vernacular.”

“Oh, of course, Shakespeare and the Bible; there is nothing like them for truth and power.  But to leave poetry for its sister art, you must have enjoyed the music in Germany.  Do you love music, Mr. Bainrothe?”

“Not very much, except in opera; then the scenery and lights and people are half the charm.  I don’t care for science.  Such an adventure as I had last night,” he murmured low, “was worth a dozen operas to me;” and again I met his admiring, steady gaze, almost embarrassing, fixed upon me.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Evelyn, coming suddenly behind us.  “Papa and Mr. Bainrothe are carrying on a little quiet flirtation, as usual, and have quite turned their backs on me, so I came hither, asking charity.  I declare, Miriam’s face is scarlet!  What mischief are you two hatching?”

“I have been running on at a most unconscionable rate,” I replied, “covering up my ignorance with many questions that have bored, rather than proved, Mr. Bainrothe, I fear.  Take up the dialogue, dear Evelyn, for a few moments, while I go to superintend that elderly flirtation you speak of, and keep papa in order,” and I left them abruptly.

“It will all be paid in before then,” I heard Mr. Bainrothe say, as I approached them, “and you could not have a safer investment.  It is as sound as the Federal Government itself.  Indestructible as the solar system.”

“I will bring the papers,” papa said, rising.  “Excuse me for ten minutes,” and I dropped into his empty seat by Mr. Bainrothe.

“I hope I shall not interrupt your business meditations while papa is gone,” I observed, breaking the silence first.

“Business is my pastime, and no food for meditation, my dear girl; for, like the Pontic monarch of old days, ’I live on poisons, and they have no power, but are a kind of nutriment.’  Now, talking to a pretty young girl is far harder and more unusual work to me than transacting mercantile or financial affairs.”

“Then I will not oppress you with my society,” I said, with a feint to rise.

“Sit still, Miriam, and don’t be foolish.  You know what I mean, very well.  Now, how do you like my son?”

“Oh, very much indeed; he is a little satirical, though, now and then; intolerant of youthful greenness, I perceive, and enthusiasm.”

“All affectation, I assure you.  He is as verdant himself as the Emerald Isle.  Just from college, and very young; what can he know of life?  As to enthusiasm, he is full of it.”

“True, what can he know of life,” I mused, and I glanced at him, as I questioned, sitting in front of Evelyn in a sort of humble, devoted way, very different from his easy, knightly air with me.  She wore a cold, imperious expression of face not unbecoming to her haughty style of beauty, and fanned herself gently as she listened carelessly to his evidently earnest words, bowing superciliously in answer from time to time.