when he arrived. She received him coldly
and without any mark of affection.

She had heard of Mr. Sanders' death;
her father had sent word. ``It shocked
me greatly,'' she said; ``but perhaps the
old man is happier in a world far from
strife and care. When we realize all the
misery there is in this world we often
wonder why we should care to live.''
Her tone was despondent, her face was
drawn and blanched, and her eyes gave
evidence of weeping.

Diotti divined that something beyond
sympathy for old Sanders' sudden death
racked her soul. He went toward her
and lovingly taking her hands, bent low
and pressed his lips to them; they were
cold as marble.

``Darling,'' he said; ``something has
made you unhappy. What is it?''

``Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your
violin like other violins?''

This unexpected question came so
suddenly he could not control his agitation.