she replied softly, a wicked glitter in her eyes. "Some
of the noblest blood in Europe is in my veins. I will
give you my genealogical tree to hang up in that old
homestead of yours. It will interest the people of
Weir--and please your mother."

"It is good in you to think of her," he said, tenderly
looking down at her.

He was not blind. He saw the muddy skin, the thick lips,
the soiled, ragged lace. They would have disgusted him
in another woman.

But this was--Lisa. There was no more to be said.

These outside trifles would fall off when she came into
his life. Even with them she was the breath and soul of
it.

She saw the difference between them more sharply than he
did. She had been cast for a low part in the play, and
knew it. Sometimes she had earned the food which kept
her alive in ways of which this untempted young priest
had never even heard. There was something in this
clean past of his, in his cold patrician face and
luxurious habits new to her, and she had a greedy relish
for it all.

She had been loved before, caressed as men caress a dog,
kicking it off when it becomes troublesome. George's