"I never allow any one to touch my violin," replied Diotti, closing the cover quickly. "Why; is there a magic charm about it, that you fear other hands may discover?" queried the old man. "I prefer that no one handle it," said the virtuoso commandingly. "Very well," sighed the old man resignedly, "there are violins and violins, and no doubt yours comes within that category," this half sneeringly. "Uncle," interposed Mildred tactfully, "you must not be so persistent. Signor Diotti prizes his violin highly and will not allow any one to play upon it but himself," and the look of relief on Diotti's face amply repaid her. Mr. Wallace came in at that moment, and with perfunctory interest in his guest, invited him to examine the splendid collection of revolutionary relics in his study. "I value them highly," said the banker, "both for patriotic and ancestral reasons. The Wallaces fought and died for their country, and helped to make this land what it is." The father and the violinist went to the study, leaving the daughter and old Sanders in the drawing-room. The old man, seating himself in a large armchair, said: "Mildred, my dear, I do not wonder at the enormous success of this Diotti." "He is a wonderful artist," replied Mildred; "critics and public alike place him among the greatest of his profession." "He is a good-looking young fellow, too," said the old man. "I think he is the handsomest man I ever have seen," replied the girl. "Where does he come from?" continued Sanders. "St. Casciano, a small town in Tuscany." "Has he a family?" "Only a sister, whom he loves dearly," good-naturedly answered the girl. "And no one else?" continued the seemingly garrulous old man. "None that I have heard him speak of. No, certainly not," rather impetuously replied Mildred. "How old is he?" continued the old man. "Twenty-eight next month; why do you wish to know?" she quizzically asked. "Simply idle curiosity," old Sanders carelessly replied. "I wonder if he is in love with any one in Tuscany?" "Of course not; how could he be?" quickly rejoined the girl. "And why not?" added old Sanders. "Why? Because, because--he is in love with some one in America." "Ah, with you, I see," said the old man, as if it were the greatest discovery of his life; "are you sure he has not some beautiful sweetheart in Tuscany as well as here?" "What a foolish question," she replied. "Men like Angelo Diotti do not fall in love as soldiers fall in line. Love to a man of his nobility is too serious to be treated so lightly." "Very true, and that's what has excited my curiosity!" whereupon the old man smoked away in silence. "Excited your curiosity!" said Mildred. "What do you mean?" "It may be something; it may be nothing; but my speculative instinct has been aroused by a strange peculiarity in his playing." "His playing is wonderful!" replied Mildred proudly.