‘I do not see why you should think so,’ he answered, trying to laugh in his turn; but there was a tinge of constraint in the laugh, and by some means his eyes met those of the Countess of Trockenau. She appeared to be laughing still, a little; her handkerchief before her mouth, but it was not all a laugh in the glance that met his. Countess Carla had indeed a most active brain, if one somewhat lacking in consequence, and failing in the matter of logic. The thought which then darted through her mind was, ‘Falkenberg is much struck with Sara Ford. He does not like to find that she has all along thought he was married and done for; and that, therefore, she can never have bestowed one tender thought upon him. And it is a shame, too. I believe they are made for one another, and I do like him so much. Why should it not be? I like the idea.’ She ceased to laugh entirely. She rose, placed her arm within his, and asked him to tell her about a picture at the opposite side of the room. They walked away. Sara was left, with her elbow resting on the top of the painted spinet, thinking: ‘Not married? how odd! But why should I have supposed he was? I suppose that was what Carla meant, when she said she had been spiteful to the Lehnbergs—she said Helene Lehnberg would give her right hand—oh, that was too bad! He is immensely rich, if not noble. Yes, I see it all now ... and certainly he is far too good for that vain, boastful coquette.’ When lunch was announced they went into the dining-room, and the repast was in no way calculated to throw discredit on the management of the occasional summer residence of a rich Frankfort banker, or upon the presence of mind and mental powers of his housekeeper. Sara found herself seated at one side of her host, while Countess Carla was opposite; while Fräulein von Lehnberg, drawing her black brows together, wondered on what known or unknown principle of etiquette that Englishwoman was given a higher place than herself. But Herr Falkenberg was most distinctly not only host but master in his own house, and when he had placed a chair for Helene and asked her to take a certain place, she had perforce consented. Sara did not bestow much attention upon the order of precedence; but her interest had been roused in her host, and she saw from a certain beaming look on Countess Carla’s face that she was thoroughly well-pleased with everything, and with herself in particular. In consequence of this, she seconded all Falkenberg’s efforts at conversation, and the meal was passing off brightly enough. Sara observed her host more closely, and the more she observed him the better she liked him. By the time that lunch was half over, she had forgotten that he was a great critic, who had got a sketch of hers upon which he was going to pass judgment: this point disappeared in her growing appreciation of his qualities as a man and a companion. His perfect modesty in the midst of his wealth and great surroundings