uch a love will ever come to me?"

"To you? Of course." The old man caught himself up short, just there,
and lost his rapt expression. There were still hopes in his heart of
realization for his daughter of all the brilliant dreams of his own
youth--those dreams which had so sadly gone quite wrong. She must do
nothing which would shut her from it if ever it should become
possible. "Yes; it will come to you, of course; but not for a long
time, and you must be very careful," he added in a greatly altered,
less magnetic voice. "You must love no one until I tell you."

"Can one make love wait?"

"Ah--well--yes--one _must_!"

"But father--"

"Wait! You must not question me, mine liebschen; but, someday it may
be that I shall no longer flute-play in a garden. Someday, maybe,
things are better with us. You must wait a while, to see if that comes
true. Then--then, when it _is_ true, I pick out for you, ach! the
handsomest, the bravest gentleman that I can find. I bring him to you,
and I say: 'Anna, you love him!' That is all."

She was dismayed. This was not to her taste at all! "But father--"

The old German in his worry lest the life that she must lead as the
companion to the rich New Yorker might induce her to let down the
barriers of the exclusiveness which that which he could not, at
present name, implanted in his very soul, looked sternly at her. He
wished, now, to end the talk of it. "That, Anna," he said gravely,
"that is all."

"But you tell me you will pick him out and bring him to me! Must he
not love me?"

This again made him forget a little. It brought back other vivid
memories of those bygone days when, young and ardent, he had gone to
this girl's mother with his heart aflame.

"Love you? Yah; of course he loves you. You think love is a game of
solitaire? But--he _will_ love you, liebschen. To fall very much in
love with you he has only once to see you. But, Anna, it is not with
women as it is with men. _You_ must _conceal_ your love, until he
speaks."

She smiled. "And, father, what shall I do then?"

"Do when he speaks? When comes the right man and tells you that he
loves you, asking you to be his wife, mine Anna, you must answer: 'For
this so great honor, sir, I thank you, and I give you in return my
heart and hand.'"

Ah, the visions in his mind as he said this, of the far-off German
village, of the dainty maiden standing there before a gallant youthful
gentleman, trying to be as formal, when