t she pictured to
herself what an effect this tone would have upon Wilhelm's German,
middle-class sense of propriety, which she knew so well, and was
indignant at her visitor's cool cynicism.

"Madame," she returned, still more icily, "you force upon me the
opinion that there are circumstances under which it would be well to
take an example by the grocer's wives whom you despise so much."

This remark, in which the Bourse-countess did not fail to hear the ring
of the real aristocrat's disdain, touched her in her tenderest point.
She tried to smile, but turned livid under her paint, and determined to
return the stab on the spot.

"Don't be angry, dearest countess, I was only joking, and you know as
well as anybody that we Andalusians do not weigh our words too
carefully. By the bye, your French poet--you know--the one before you
went to the seaside--is simply beside himself. You have thrown him
over, it seems. He comes to me every day, imploring me to say a good
word for him to you. He talks of challenging his fortunate successor,
and goodness only knows what nonsense beside."

Pilar turned very white. She sprang to her feet.

"Shall I give a name to what you are doing?" she cried, her voice
shaking.

"Don't trouble," returned her visitor, perfectly delighted, and rising
as she spoke. "I see, dearest countess, that you have one of your
nervous days, so I had better come again another time."

So saying she swept out of the room, throwing an offensively friendly
nod at Wilhelm as she passed. To the grinning Anne, who was waiting in
the hall to see her to her carriage, she said:

"Well, it looks serious this time--the countess is over head and ears.
But it is quite true, he is much better-looking than any of the others."

"Looks are not everything," returned Anne sagely, and her contemptuous
shrug conveyed plainly enough that she did not share her mistress'
taste.

Upstairs Pilar had rushed over to Wilhelm as soon as the countess
disappeared, and hid her face on his breast.

Wilhelm pushed her gently away, and said sadly:

"I have no right to reproach you, or, if I did, it would only be for
not having been open with me, although you boast of your extreme
truthfulness."

"Wilhelm," she entreated, clasping his hand in both of hers, "do not
judge me hastily. I might excuse myself, I might even deny it, but I am
not capable of that. When I told you the story of my life, I believed
honestly that I had made you a