m over that fear.
He could not, of course, realize that this ascendancy would not prevent
Fiorsen from laughing at him behind his back and acting as if he did not
exist. No real contest, in fact, was possible between men moving on such
different planes, neither having the slightest respect for the other's
standards or beliefs.

Fiorsen, who had begun to pace the room, stopped, and said with
agitation:

"Major Winton, your daughter is the most beautiful thing on earth. I
love her desperately. I am a man with a future, though you may not think
it. I have what future I like in my art if only I can marry her. I have
a little money, too--not much; but in my violin there is all the fortune
she can want."

Winton's face expressed nothing but cold contempt. That this fellow
should take him for one who would consider money in connection with his
daughter simply affronted him.

Fiorsen went on:

"You do not like me--that is clear. I saw it the first moment. You are
an English gentleman"--he pronounced the words with a sort of irony--"I
am nothing to you. Yet, in MY world, I am something. I am not an
adventurer. Will you permit me to beg your daughter to be my wife?" He
raised his hands that still held the hat; involuntarily they had assumed
the attitude of prayer.

For a second, Winton realized that he was suffering. That weakness went
in a flash, and he said frigidly:

"I am obliged to you, sir, for coming to me first. You are in my house,
and I don't want to be discourteous, but I should be glad if you would
be good enough to withdraw and take it that I shall certainly oppose
your wish as best I can."

The almost childish disappointment and trouble in Fiorsen's face changed
quickly to an expression fierce, furtive, mocking; and then shifted to
despair.

"Major Winton, you have loved; you must have loved her mother. I
suffer!"

Winton, who had turned abruptly to the fire, faced round again.

"I don't control my daughter's affections, sir; she will do as she
wishes. I merely say it will be against my hopes and judgment if she
marries you. I imagine you've not altogether waited for my leave. I was
not blind to the way you hung about her at Wiesbaden, Mr. Fiorsen."

Fiorsen answered with a twisted, miserable smile:

"Poor wretches do what they can. May I see her? Let me just see her."

Was it any good to refuse? She had been seeing the fellow already
without his knowledge, keeping from him--HIM--all her feelings,