own at the
bright young face.

"You are quite fresh in foraging from historic fields,--and since I
quitted the classic shade of Alma Mater I have had little leisure for
Roman lore; but college memories suggest that it was to Honour and
Valour that Marcellus erected the splendid double temple at the
Capene Gate. I bow to your parallel, and gratefully appreciate your
ingeniously delicate compliment."

He laughed sarcastically as he interpreted the protest very legible
in her clear honest eyes, and waited a moment for her to disclaim the
flattery. But she was silently smiling up at her mother's face.

"Does my very observant ward approve of my homage to the Roman
deities?"

"Are your favourite divinities those before whom Marcellus bent his
knee?"

Very steadily her large eyes, blue as the border of a clematis, were
turned to meet his, and involuntarily he took his under lip between
his glittering teeth.

"My testimony would not be admissible before the bar, at which I have
been arraigned. Since you have explored the Holy of Holies, be so
kind as to describe what you find."

"You might consider me presumptuous, possibly impertinent."

"At least I may safely promise not to express any such opinion. What
is there, think you, that Erle Palma worships?"

"A statue of Ambition that stands in the vestibule of the temple of
Fame."

"Olga told you that."

"Oh no, sir! Have not I lived here a year?"

His eyes sparkled, and a proud smile curled his lips.

"Do I offer sacrifices?"

"I think you would, if they were required."

"Suppose my stone god demanded my heart?"

"Ah, sir! you know you gave it to him long ago."

He laughed quite genially, and his whole face softened, warmed.

"At least let us hope my ambition is not sordid; is unstained with
the dross of avarice. It is a stern god, and I shall not deny that
'Ephraim is joined to his idols! Let him alone.'"

A short silence followed, during which his thoughts wandered far from
the precincts of that quiet room.

"Mr. Palma, will you please give me my picture?"

"It is yours of course, but conditionally. It must remain where it
now hangs: first, because I wish it; secondly, because your mother
prefers (for good reasons) that it should not be known just yet as
her portrait; and if it should be removed to your bed-chamber, the
members of the household would probably gossip. Remaining here, it
will be called an imitation of 'Mona Lisa del Giocondo,' and no