ould not resist saying a word in his favor--she
spoke of him with such cruelly sincere contempt.

"Though he only saw you for a moment," I said, "he is your ardent admirer
already."

"Is he indeed?" She was so utterly indifferent to Mr. Engelman's
admiration that she could hardly take the trouble to make that
commonplace reply. The next moment she dismissed the subject. "So you
have written to Fritz?" she went on. "Have you also written to your
aunt?"

"Yes, by the same post."

"Mainly on business, no doubt? Is it indiscreet to ask if you slipped in
a little word about the hopes that I associate with Mrs. Wagner's arrival
at Frankfort?"

This seemed to give me a good opportunity of moderating her "hopes," in
mercy to her daughter and to herself.

"I thought it undesirable to mention the subject--for the present, at
least," I answered. "There is a serious difference of opinion between
Mrs. Wagner and Mr. Keller, on a subject connected with the management of
the office here. I say serious, because they are both equally firm in
maintaining their convictions. Mr. Keller has written to my aunt by
yesterday's post; and I fear it may end in an angry correspondence
between them."

I saw that I had startled her. She suddenly drew her chair close to mine.

"Do you think the correspondence will delay your aunt's departure from
England?" she asked.

"On the contrary. My aunt is a very resolute person, and it may hasten
her departure. But I am afraid it will indispose her to ask any favors of
Mr. Keller, or to associate herself with his personal concerns. Any
friendly intercourse between them will indeed be impossible, if she
asserts her authority as head-partner, and forces him to submit to a
woman in a matter of business."

She sank back in her chair. "I understand." she said faintly.

While we had been talking, Minna had walked to the window, and had
remained there looking out. She suddenly turned round as her mother
spoke.

"Mamma! the landlady's little boy has just gone out. Shall I tap at the
window and call him back?"

The widow roused herself with an effort. "What for, my love?" she asked,
absently.

Minna pointed to the mantelpiece. "To take your letter to Mr. Engelman,
mamma." Madame Fontaine looked at the letter--paused for a moment--and
answered, "No, my dear; let the boy go. It doesn't matter for the
present."

She turned to me, with an abrupt recovery of her customary manner.

"I am fortunately,