"I know," she continued, "but lately, since we have loved each other, I can not bear to see a woman near you. In my dreams again and again an indefinable shadow mockingly comes; and cries to me, 'he is not to be yours, he is to be mine.'" Diotti flushed and drew her to him "Darling," his voice carrying conviction, "I am yours, you are mine, all in all, in life here and beyond!" And as she sat dreaming after he had gone, she murmured petulantly, "I wish there were no other women in the world." Her father was expected from Europe on the succeeding day's steamer. Mr. Wallace was a busy man. The various gigantic enterprises he served as president or director occupied most of his time. He had been absent in Europe for several months, and Mildred was anxiously awaiting his return to tell him of her love. When Mr. Wallace came to his residence the next morning, his daughter met him with a fond display of filial affection; they walked into the drawing-room, hand in hand; he saw a picture of the violinist on the piano. "Who's the handsome young fellow?" he asked, looking at the portrait with the satisfaction a man feels when he sees a splendid type of his own sex. "That is Angelo Diotti, the famous violinist," she said, but she could not add another word. As they strolled through the rooms he noticed no less than three likenesses of the Tuscan. And as they passed her room he saw still another on the chiffonnier. "Seems to me the house is running wild with photographs of that fiddler," he said. For the first time in her life she was self-conscious: "I will wait for a more opportune time to tell him," she thought. In the scheme of Diotti's appearance in New York there were to be two more concerts. One was to be given that evening. Mildred coaxed her father to accompany her to hear the violinist. Mr. Wallace was not fond of music; "it had been knocked out of him on the farm up in Vermont, when he was a boy," he would apologetically explain, and besides he had the old puritanical abhorrence of stage people--putting them all in one class--as puppets who danced for played or talked for an idle and unthinking public. So it was with the thought of a wasted evening that he accompanied Mildred to the concert. The entertainment was a repetition of the others Diotti had given, and at its end, Mildred said to her father: "Come, I want to congratulate Signor Diotti in person." "That is entirely unnecessary," he replied. "It is my desire," and the girl led the unwilling parent back of the scenes and into Diotti's dressing-room. Mildred introduced Diotti to her father, who after a few commonplaces lapsed into silence. The daughter's enthusiastic interest in Diotti's performance and her tender solicitude for his weariness after the efforts of the evening, quickly attracted the attention of Mr. Wallace and irritated him exceedingly.