“And is that anything against him!” exclaimed Flavia in angry tones; “one would think from your sneers that this was a crime. Not only is he a composer, but he is a genius. I can read that in his face. He may be poor, but I am rich enough for both, and he will owe all to me; so much the better, for then he will not be compelled to give lessons for his livelihood, and he will have leisure to compose an opera more beautiful than any that Gounod has ever written, and I shall share all his glory. Why, perhaps, he may even sing his own songs to me alone.” Her father noticed her state of feverish excitement and gazed upon her sadly. Flavia’s mother had been removed from this world at the early age of twenty-four by that insidious malady, consumption, which defies modern medical science, and in a brief space changes a beautiful girl into a livid corpse, and the father viewed her excited manner, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes with tears and dismay. “By heavens!” cried he, bursting into a sudden fit of passion; “if ever he ill treats you, he is a dead man.” The girl was startled at the sudden ferocity of his manner. “What have I done to make you angry?” asked she; “and why do you have such evil thoughts of him?” “I tremble for you, in whom my whole soul is wrapped up,” answered the banker. “This man has robbed me of my child’s heart, and you will be happier with him than you are with your poor old father. I tremble because of your inexperience and his weakness, which may prove a source of trouble to you.” “If he is weak, all the better; my will can guide him.” “You are wrong,” replied her father, “as many other women have been before you. You believe that weak and vacillating dispositions are easily controlled, but I tell you that this is an error. Only determined characters can be influenced, and it is on substantial foundations that we find support.” Flavia made no reply, and her father drew her closer to him. “Listen to me, my child,” said he. “You will never have a better friend than I am. You know that I would shed every drop of blood in my veins for you. He is coming, so search your heart to discover if this is not some mere passing fancy.” “Father!” cried she. “Remember that your happiness is in your own hands now, so be careful and conceal your feelings, and do not let him discover how deep your love is for him. Men’s minds are so formed that while they blame a woman for duplicity, they complain far more if she acts openly and allows her feelings to be seen----” He paused, for the door-bell rang. Flavia’s heart gave a bound of intense joy. “He has come!” gasped she, and, with a strong effort to retain her composure, she added, “I will obey you, my dear father; I will not come here again until I have entirely regained my composure. Do not fear, and I will show you that your daughter can act a part as well as any other woman.”