ich he
did not wish to bother me about. A mother's heart, you know--"

"Madame, I pray you, have some consideration for a father's heart, and
hasten."

"I went into his room to speak to him and found that he had left it;
but on his table was a little jewel-box."

The flute-player drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, so close set
were his teeth. Now she was coming to it! Now she was coming to the
accusation of his Anna--the accusation which--ah, God!--had been
preceded by the girl's own terrible confession.

"Yes," said he, trying not to let his eyes turn toward the bag, which
still lay on the table, "a jewel-box. Well, Madame, what of that?"

"Being a woman," Mrs. Vanderlyn said slowly, "I could not withstand
the temptation. I looked in. Within I saw--a magnificent diamond
ring."

Still she had not reached the crux of what she had to say. Would the
woman never come to the great point--would she never make the charge
against his Anna definite and clear? "Well?" he said unhappily, and,
as he said the word a resolution found birth in his brain. His little
Anna! What if she had been tempted and had yielded? He would not let
her suffer for it, as this cold and haughty woman evidently wished to
have her suffer! He would ward disgrace from her--at any cost.

Carefully, so that the movement could not rouse suspicion in the mind
of his exasperating visitor, he put his hand behind him and let it
fall on the bag upon the table. Once on it, his fingers worked with
skill and that precision which is natural to fingers trained by
practice on a musical instrument until they seem to have a real
intelligence, scarcely dependent on the brain.

"I knew for whom the dear boy meant that jewel," Mrs. Vanderlyn went
on. "He had bought it as a present for me on my birthday, which occurs
tomorrow."

Kreutzer nodded slowly, his fingers working, all the time, in Anna's
bag. "Presents are sometimes made on birthdays," he admitted. "Well?"

"Happy in the thought that he had remembered me, I went out for my
drive, leaving the box there on his table, just where I had found it.
When I reached the house again I found a note left for me by your
daughter, saying that she had decided upon going from my house
forever, that someday she hoped I would forgive her--"

"What had she done?" said Kreutzer, in a dry voice, full of misery.

"Ah, that she did not say." Mrs. Vanderlyn paused now, with a fine
sense of the dramatic. "But immediately I lo