hour?"

"No, thanks," replied the young girl, mounting the stairs with her sister to her mother's apartment. "Send me the baby for awhile, I like so much to have him."

"Oh, yes, the young gentleman shall make his appearance," nodded Mrs. Jenny, "provided he doesn't sleep like a little dormouse."

"Do you go in to mamma," said Gertrude. "I will change my dress and then come."

The rooms were the same as in the lower story, also richly furnished, though not in the new "aesthetic" style, yet they were not less elegant and comfortable. The sisters separated in the ante-room, and Gertrude Baumhagen went to her own room. She occupied the room with the bow-window, but here the daylight was not broken by costly stained glass: it came in, unhindered, in floods through the clear panes, before which outside, numberless flowers waved in the soft breeze. Directly opposite were the gables of the Rathhaus; like airy lace-work, the rich ornamentation of the towers was marked out against the glowing evening sky.

This bow-window was a delightful place; here stood her work-table, and behind it on an easel, the portrait of the late Mr. Baumhagen. The resemblance between the father and daughter was visible at a glance; there was the same light brown hair, the intellectual brow, the small, fine nose, and the eyes too were the same. She had always been his darling, and it was her care that fresh flowers should always be placed in the gold network of the frame. And where she sat at work her hands would sometimes rest in her lap and her eyes would turn to the picture. "My dear, good papa!" she would whisper then, as if he must understand.

To-day also, she walked quickly towards the bow-window and looked long at the picture. "You would have done that too," she said, softly, "wouldn't you, papa!" An earnest expression came suddenly into the young eyes, something like inexpressible longing. "No, every one is not like mamma and Jenny; there are warm human hearts, there are hearts that feel compassion for a stranger's needs, for whom the detested--" she stopped suddenly her small hands had clenched themselves and her eyes filled with tears.

She began to pace up and down the room. The soft, thick carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps, but the heavy silk rustled after her with an anxious sound.

What humiliations she had to endure daily and hourly from the fact of being a rich girl! She owed everything to the circumstance of having a fortune. Jenny had just now declared to her again that she had only been godmother, because--Ah, no matter, she knew better. Johanna was too modest. But she had not yet recovered from that other blow. A week ago there had been manœuvres in the neighborhood, and the colonel with his adjutant had had his quarters for two days in the Baumhagen house. She could not really remember that she had spoken more than a few commonplace words to the adjutant, and twenty-four hours after the troops had left the city--yesterday--a letter lay before her filled with the most ardent protestations of love and an entreaty for her hand. She had taken the letter and gone to her mother with it, with the words: "Here is some one who wishes to marry my money. Will you write the answer, mamma? I cannot."

Now she was dreading the mention of this letter. She was not afraid that her mother would try to persuade her. No, no, she had always been independent enough not to order her life according to the will of another, but the matter would be discussed and the division between mother and daughter would only be made wider than ever.

She started; the door opened and her sister's voice called: "Do come, Gertrude, I can't make up my mind about that new red."

The young girl crossed the hall and a moment after stood in her mother's drawing-room, before her mother, a small woman with almost too rosy cheeks, and an exceedingly obstinate expression about the full mouth. She sat on the sofa beneath the large Swiss landscape, the work of a celebrated Düsseldorf master--Mrs. Baumhagen was fond of relating that she had paid five hundred dollars for it--and tossed about with her small hands, covered with diamonds, a mass of dress patterns.

"Gertrude," she cried, "this would do for you." And she held out a bit of blue silk. "It is a pity you are so different, it is so nice for two sisters to dress alike."

"What is suitable for a married woman, is not fit for a girl," declared Mrs. Jenny. "Gertrude ought to get married, she is twenty years old."

"Ah! that reminds me,"--the mother had been turning over the patterns during the conversation,--"there is that letter from your last admirer, I must answer it. What am I to write him?--

"See here, Jenny, this brown ground with the blue spots is pretty, isn't it?--It is really a great bore to answer letters like that; why don't you do it yourself?"

"I am afraid my answer would not be dispassionate enough," replied the girl, calmly.

"Do you like him?" asked her sister.

The young girl ignored the question.

"I am afraid I might be bitter, and nothing is required but a purely business-like answer, as the question was purely one of business."

"You are delicious!" laughed the young wife. "O what a pity you had not lived in the middle ages, when the knights were obliged to go through so long a probation! Little goose, you must learn to take the world as it is. Do you suppose Arthur would have married me if I had had nothing? I assure you he would never have thought of it! And do you suppose I would have taken him if I had not known he was in good circumstances? Never! And what would you have more from us? we are a comparatively happy couple."

Gertrude looked at her sister in surprise, with a questioning look in her blue eyes.

"Comparatively happy?" she repeated in a low tone.

"Good gracious, yes, he has his whims--one has to put up with them," declared her sister,

"Pray don't quarrel to-day," said Mrs. Baumhagen, taking her eye-glass from her snub-nose; "besides I will write the letter. It is for that I am your mother." She sighed.

"But in this matter I think Jenny is right. Gertrude, you take far too ideal views of the world. We have all seen to what such ideas lead." Another sigh. "I will not try to persuade you, I did not say anything to influence Jenny; you both know that very well. For my own part I have nothing against this Mr. Mr.--Mr.--" the name did not occur to her at once.

The young girl laughed, but her eyes looked scornful. "His address is given with great distinctness in the letter," she said.

"There is no great hurry, I suppose," continued her mother. "I have my whist-party this evening; if I am not there punctually I must pay a fine; besides, I don't feel like writing." She yawned slightly.

"The evenings are getting very long now--did you know, Jenny, that an opera troupe is coming here?"

Jenny answered in the affirmative, and added that she must go and dress.

"Good night," she cried, merrily, from the door; "we shall not meet again to-day."

"Good night, mamma," said Gertrude also.

"Are you going down to Jenny?" asked Mrs. Baumhagen.

The girl shook her head.

"What are you going to do all the evening?"

"I don't know, mamma. I have all sorts of things to do. Perhaps I shall read."

"Ah! Well, good night, my child."

She waved her hand and Gertrude went away. She took off her silk dress when she reached her room and exchanged