"What! She one of the family? And do they leave her alone on the stairs in the evening, and let her serve lemonade to the guests?" Jenő shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you see, she is the daughter of some poor relations, and her aunt here has taken pity on her. Then, too, she is little more than a child,--only about fifteen years old,--and no one heeds her." Richard looked at his brother coldly. "Was your Baroness Plankenhorst never of that age herself?" he asked. "But what would you have them do with an adopted waif like that?" returned the other. "They can't rear her as if she were to be a great lady." "Then they ought not to have adopted her," objected Richard. "No gentleman will pay court to her as long as she fills a menial's place, and no poor man will venture to do so on account of her high birth." "Quite true, but what can we do about it?" said Jenő. Richard left his brother and advanced to the sideboard, where the girl was serving lemonade. She presented an exceedingly attractive appearance, her abundant dark hair coiled high on her head, her black eyes full of life, and a ready smile on her coral lips. She seemed to enjoy the part allotted to her, and met the guests' friendly advances in an unconstrained but modest manner. Upon Richard's approach she did not turn away from him, as he might have expected from their earlier meeting, but met his look with a roguish smile in her bright eyes, and said to him, as he came nearer: "Aha! now you are afraid of me, aren't you?" And she had hit the truth, for the young officer really felt abashed in her presence. "Miss Edith," said he, "I beg you to pardon me; but why do they let you wander about alone in the evening, where you are sure to meet so many people?" "Oh, they all know me," she answered, "and I had an errand to do. You took me for a maid-servant, didn't you?" "That is, indeed, my only excuse," he replied. "Well, don't you think maid-servants have any rights that others are bound to respect?" asked the girl. The question was a hard one for Richard to answer; he could find nothing to say. "Now tell me what to give you," said Edith, "and then go back to the dancing-hall, where they are waiting for you." The young man refused all the offered refreshments, but asked the girl to reach him the tip of her little finger in sign of forgiveness for his offence. "No, no!" she cried, "I won't shake hands with you. Your hand has been wicked." "If you call my hand wicked," he returned, "I will go to-morrow and fight a duel and have it cut off. Do you really want my poor hand to be chopped off for offending you? If you do, just as surely as I stand here you shall see me day after to-morrow with only one hand." "Oh, don't talk like that!" exclaimed Edith. "I won't be angry any longer." So saying, she gave him her hand--not merely her little finger, but the whole of her soft, warm little hand--and let him press it in his own. No one was near them at the moment.