perfect toy in her hands. Ah, well, we shall see what we shall see."
And the Baroness finished her massage in cold cream, and put her
blonde head on the pillow and went sound asleep.

After that first tete-a-tete supper the fair widow managed to see
Preston at least once or twice a week. She sent for him to ask his
advice on business matters, she asked him to aid her in changing the
position of the furniture in a room when the servants were all busy,
and she invited him to her private parlour for lunch every Sunday
afternoon. It was during one of these chats over cake and wine that
the young man spoke of Berene. The Baroness had dropped some remarks
about her servants, and Preston said, in a casual tone of voice which
hid the real interest he felt in the subject, "By the way, one of
your servants has quite an unusual voice. I have heard her singing
about the halls a few times, and it seems to me she has real talent."

"Oh, that is Miss Dumont--Berene Dumont--she is not an absolute
servant," the Baroness replied; "she is a most unfortunate young
woman to whom my heart went out in pity, and I have given her a home.
She is really a widow, though she refuses to use her dead husband's
name."

"A widow?" repeated Preston with surprise and a queer sensation of
annoyance at his heart; "why, from the glimpse I had of her I thought
her a young girl."

"So she is, not over twenty-one at most, and woefully ignorant for
that age," the Baroness said, and then she proceeded to outline
Berene's history, laying a good deal of stress upon her own
charitable act in giving the girl a home.