ur sorrows into
cold, unfeeling ears; to seek sympathy in blind eyes--that is
loneliness. That is the loneliness that causes the heart to break."

Warrington's eyes never left hers; he was fascinated.

"Luxury!" she repeated bitterly. "Surrounding me with all a woman
might desire--paintings that charm the eye, books that charm the mind,
music that charms the ear. Money!"

"Philosophy in a girl!" thought Warrington. His hat became motionless.

"It is all a lie, a lie!" The girl struck her hands together, impotent
in her wrath.

It was done so naturally that Warrington, always the dramatist, made a
mental note of the gesture.

"I was educated in Paris and Berlin; my musical education was
completed in Dresden. Like all young girls with music-loving souls, I
was something of a poet. I saw the beautiful in everything; sometimes
the beauty existed only in my imagination. I dreamed; I was happy. I
was told that I possessed a voice such as is given to few. I sang
before the Emperor of Austria at a private musicale. He complimented
me. The future was bright indeed. Think of it; at twenty I retained
all my illusions! I am now twenty-three, and not a single illusion is
left. I saw but little of my father and mother, which is not unusual
with children of wealthy parents. The first shock that came to my
knowledge was the news that my mother had ceased to live with my
father. I was recalled. There were no explanations. My father met me
at the boat. He greeted my effusive caresses--caresses that I had
saved for years!--with careless indifference. This was the second
shock. What did it all mean? Where was my mother? My father did not
reply. When I reached home I found that all the servants I had known
in my childhood days were gone. From the new ones I knew that I should
learn nothing of the mystery which, like a pall, had suddenly settled
down upon me."

She paused, her arms hanging listless at her sides, her gaze riveted
upon a pattern in the rug at her feet. Warrington sat like a man of
stone; her voice had cast a spell upon him.

"I do not know why I tell you these things. It may weary you. I do not
care. Madness lay in silence. I had to tell some one. This morning I
found out all. My mother left my father because he was ... a thief!"

"A thief!" fell mechanically from Warrington's lips.

"A thief, bold, unscrupulous; not the petty burglar, no. A man who has
stolen funds intrusted to him for years; a man who has plunder