"He merely said he was going to Sicily," said the Lady Hilda, languidly, still glazing her St. Ursula.
Madame Mila eyed her curiously.
"You look very pale, dear; I think you paint too much, and read too much," she said, affectionately. "I wish you had tried to persuade him into this Spiffler affair; it would be just the marriage for him, and a girl of seventeen may be drilled into anything, especially when she has small bones and little colour and good teeth; if Furstenberg gets her he will soon train her into good form—only he will gamble away all her money, let them tie it up as they may; and they can't tie it up very much if they want to make a high marriage. Good men won't sacrifice themselves unless they get some control of the fortune. They wouldn't have tied it at all with Della Rocca. Wouldn't the little Spiffler have been better for him than Sicily?"
"It depends upon taste," said the Lady Hilda, changing her brushes.
"Very odd taste," said Madame Mila. "They say Pibro always cuts the heads off the men he
