"No!" said Dennis, in the deep, assured tone that ever calms and secures attention. "This is not mockery. I speak the words of truth and soberness. You do not believe, but that is not the same as cannot. And permit me to contradict you when I say you _do_ feel. On this subject so near your heart you feel most deeply--feel as I never knew any one feel before. This proves you capable of feeling on other and higher subjects, and what you feel your trained and skilful hand can portray. You felt on the evening of that miserable day, and sang as I never heard you sing before. Your tones then would move any heart, and my tears fell with the rain in sympathy: I could not help it." Her bosom rose and fell tumultuously, and her breath came hard and quick. "Oh, if I could believe you were right!" "I know I am right," he said, so decidedly that again hope grew rosy and beautiful in her face. "Then again," he continued, eagerly, "see what an advantage you have over the most of us. Your power of imitation is wonderful. _You can copy anything you see._" "Good-evening, Miss Ludolph. Where have you been hiding? I have twice made the tour of the supper-room in my search," broke in the voluble Mr. Mellen. Then he gave Dennis a cool stare, who acted as if unconscious of his presence. An expression of disgust flitted across Christine's face at the interruption, or the person--perhaps both--and she was about to shake him off that Dennis might speak further, when Miss Winthrop and others came up, and there was a general movement back to the parlors. "Why, Christine, what is the matter?" asked her friend. "You look as if you had a fever. What has Mr. Fleet been saying?" "Oh, we have had an argument on my hobby, art, and of course don't agree, and so got excited in debate." Miss Winthrop glanced keenly at them and said, "I would like to have heard it, for it was Greek meeting Greek." "To what art or _trade_ did Mr. Fleet refer?" asked Mr. Mellen, with an insinuation that all understood. "One that you do not understand," said Christine, keenly. The petted and spoiled millionaire flushed angrily a moment, and then said with a bow: "You are right, Miss Ludolph. Mr. Fleet is acquainted with one or two arts that I have never had the pleasure of learning." "He has at least learned the art of being a gentleman," was the sharp retort. The young man's face grew darker, and he said, "From the _sweeping_ nature of your remarks, I perceive that Mr. Fleet is high in your favor." "A poor pun made in poorer taste," was all the comfort he got from Christine.