y the
Duchesse D'Argens, a relative of the royal princess. But Charles
abdicated and the duchesse died. All this, however, is painful to you,
Miss Carew?"

"Only such as relates to my mother," she replied in a clear tone. "I
suppose I should feel grateful for this fortune, but I am afraid I do
not. Please go on."

Culver leaned back in his chair, his glance bent upon a discolored
statue of Psyche in the court-yard. "Had the marquis attended to his
garden, like Candide, or your humble servant, and eschewed the
company of kings he might have been as care-free as he was wretched.
His monarchs were knocked down like nine-pins. Louis XVIII was a man
of straw; Charles X, a feather-top, and Louis Philippe, a toy ruler.
The marquis' domestic life was as unblest as his political career. The
frail duchesse left him a progeny of scandals. These, the only
offspring of the iniquitous dame, were piquantly dressed in the
journals for public parade. Fancy, then, his delight in disinheriting
his wife's relatives, and leaving you, his daughter, his fortune and
his name!"

"His name?" she repeated, sadly. With averted face she watched the
fountain in the garden. "If he had given it to my mother," she
continued, "but now--I do not care for it. Her name is all I want."
Her voice trembled and she exclaimed passionately: "I should rather
Mr. Saint-Prosper would keep the property and I--my work! After
denying my mother and deserting her, how can I accept anything from
him?"

"Under the new will," said Culver, "the estate does not revert to Mr.
Saint-Prosper in any event. But you might divide it with him?" he
added, suddenly.

"How could I do that?" she asked, without looking up.

"Marry him!" laughed the attorney.

But the jest met with scant response, his fair client remaining
motionless as a statue, while Barnes gazed at her furtively. Culver's
smile gradually faded; uncertain how to proceed, realizing his humor
had somehow miscarried, he was not sorry when the manager arose,
saying:

"Well, my dear, it is time we were at the theater."

"Won't you accept this nosegay from my garden, Miss Carew?" urged the
lawyer in a propitiatory tone as they were leaving.

And the attorney not only accompanied them to the door, but
down-stairs to the street, where he stood for a moment watching them
drive down the thoroughfare. Then he slowly returned, breathing
heavily--invidious contradiction of his youthful assumption!--and
shaking his he