"Yes. Loyalty to one's country is fed upon sentiment, or self-interest. Americans are a sentimental race--whether they know it or not--and Americans do not, as a general rule, want their country to pay them for loving her. Do you, Harry?" "No, indeed, sir!" "There are tens of thousands just as loyal as you are." "When women get the suffrage," said Rose, "politics will be better and purer." "Oh, Rosie! are there not politicians enough in America, without women increasing the awful sum?" "We feel compelled to increase it, papa. _Noblesse oblige_, if you will read sex for rank. I intend to be a Socialist." "Then you must become very rich, or very poor. Socialism is only permitted to the very great, or the very small." "What of Republicanism, sir?" "It is highly respectable, Harry. Men who would be gentlemen cannot afford to be anything else; and I have noticed they are more Republican than Harrison himself." "Are you a Democrat now, sir?" "I love Democracy, Harry; but I do not love Democrats." "Do let us change the subject," said Mrs. Filmer, fretfully. "In a month or two, the election influenza will be raging. Let us forget politics among the June roses." "Suppose we talk of love, then. Love is quite at the other end of the pole of feeling. What do you think of love in these days, father?" Harry spoke in his lightest manner, but Mr. Filmer's serious face reproved it. "Love is a kind of religion, Harry," he answered. "We will not joke about it, as fools do. And it is the same divine thing to-day as it was in its exquisite beginnings in Paradise. Love is either the greatest bliss or the profoundest misery the soul of man can know." And quite inadvertently, his eyes fell upon Rose, and she trembled and resolved to take her letter to Dick Duval out of the mail bag. But when she went for it the bag had been sent to the post-office, and she whispered to herself dramatically, "The die is cast!" and then she sat down and played a "Romanza," and wove into it her memories of poor Horace Key, watching his old love plight her broken faith to a rich husband. Swiftly Horace Key became Dick Duval, and she played herself into tears, thinking of his black, velvety eyes, and his love-darting glances. Early in the morning Adriana's little visit was over. She had made no preparations for a longer one, and after all, the old rule with regard to visits is one that fits most occasions--a day to come, a day to stay, and a day to go away. She had also a singular feeling of necessity in her return home, as if she were needed there; and she was glad that Harry had to go to New York, and that their adieu was public and conventional. "We shall meet again very soon," he said, as he touched Yanna's hand; and then he lifted the reins, and the dog-cart went spinning down the avenue, as if he had only one desire--that of escaping from her.