eat claims."

"She is not like that?" said the Princess, taking from her wallet a
miniature with jewels around it, and holding it before her son. It was
her own in all the fire of youth, and as Deronda looked at it with
admiring sadness, she said, "Had I not a rightful claim to be something
more than a mere daughter and mother? The voice and the genius matched
the face. Whatever else was wrong, acknowledge that I had a right to be
an artist, though my father's will was against it. My nature gave me a
charter."

"I do acknowledge that," said Deronda, looking from the miniature to
her face, which even in its worn pallor had an expression of living
force beyond anything that the pencil could show.

"Will you take the portrait?" said the Princess, more gently. "If she
is a kind woman, teach her to think of me kindly."

"I shall be grateful for the portrait," said Deronda, "but--I ought to
say, I have no assurance that she whom I love will have any love for
me. I have kept silence."

"Who and what is she?" said the mother. The question seemed a command.

"She was brought up as a singer for the stage," said Deronda, with
inward reluctance. "Her father took her away early from her mother, and
her life has been unhappy. She is very young--only twenty. Her father
wished to bring her up in disregard--even in dislike of her Jewish
origin, but she has clung with all her affection to the memory of her
mother and the fellowship of her people."

"Ah, like you. She is attached to the Judaism she knows nothing of,"
said the Princess, peremptorily. "That is poetry--fit to last through
an opera night. Is she fond of her artist's life--is her singing worth
anything?"

"Her singing is exquisite. But her voice is not suited to the stage. I
think that the artist's life has been made repugnant to her."

"Why, she is made for you then. Sir Hugo said you were bitterly against
being a singer, and I can see that you would never have let yourself be
merged in a wife, as your father was."

"I repeat," said Deronda, emphatically--"I repeat that I have no
assurance of her love for me, of the possibility that we can ever be
united. Other things--painful issues may lie before me. I have always
felt that I should prepare myself to renounce, not cherish that
prospect. But I suppose I might feel so of happiness in general.
Whether it may come or not, one should try and prepare one's self to do
without it."

"Do you feel in that way?" said his