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officer； lifting one foot after the other in an effort to keep warm； and in so
doing showing little terpsichorean grace。
‘‘It's only the shank of the evening； officer；'' rejoined the old man； as
he fumbled with the latch key and finally opened the door。 The two men
entered and the officer passed on。
Every man has a fad。 One will tell you he sees nothing in billiards or
pool or golf or tennis； but will grow enthusiastic over the scientific
possibilities of mumble…peg； you agree with him； only you substitute
‘‘skittles'' for ‘‘mumble… peg。''
Old Sanders' fad was mixing toddies and punches。
‘‘The nectar of the gods pales into nothingness when compared with a
toddy such as I make；'' said he。 ‘‘Ambrosia may have been all right for the
degenerates of the old Grecian and Roman days； but an American
gentleman demands a toddya hot toddy。'' And then he proceeded with
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circumspection and dignity to demonstrate the process of decocting that
mysterious beverage。
The two men took off their overcoats and went into the sitting…room。 A
pile of logs burned brightly in the fire…place。 The old man threw another
on the burning heap； filled the kettle with water and hung it over the fire。
Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the various ingredients for
the toddy。
‘‘How do you like America？'' said the elder； with commonplace
indifference； as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of the glass；
dissolving the particles with a few drops of water。
‘‘Very much； indeed；'' said the Tuscan； with the air of a man who had
answered the question before。
‘‘Great country for girls！'' said Sanders； pouring a liberal quantity of
Old Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would get
warm。
‘‘And for men！'' responded Diotti； enthusiastically。
‘‘Men don't amount to much here； women run everything；'' retorted the
elder； while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin in the
second glass。 The kettle began to sing。
‘‘That's music for you；'' chuckled the old man； raising the lid to see if
the water had boiled sufficiently。 ‘‘Do you know I think a dinner horn and
a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real down…right melody；''
and he lifted the kettle from the fire…place。
Diotti smiled。
With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with
boiling water。
‘‘Try that；'' handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti； ‘‘you will find it all
right；'' and the old man drew an arm… chair toward the fire…place； smacking
his lips in anticipation。
The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the drink。
‘‘Your country is noted for its beautiful women？''
‘‘We have exquisite types of femininity in Tuscany；'' said the young
man； with patriotic ardor。
‘‘Any as fine looking asasaswell； say the young lady we dined
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with to…night？''
‘‘Miss Wallace？'' queried the Tuscan。
‘‘Yes； Miss Wallace；'' this rather impatiently。
‘‘She is very beautiful；'' said Diotti； with solemn admiration。
‘‘Have you ever seen any one prettier？'' questioned the old man； after a
second prolonged sip。
‘‘I have no desire to see any one more beautiful；'' said the violinist；
feeling that the other was trying to draw him out； and determined not to
yield。
‘‘You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man； but are not you
musicians a most impressionable lot？''
‘‘We are human；'' answered the violinist。
‘‘I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port。''
‘‘That would be a delightful prospect to one having polygamous
aspirations； but for myself； one sweetheart is enough；'' laughingly said the
musician。
‘‘Only one！ Well； here's to her！ With this nectar fit for the gods and
goddesses of Olympus； let us drink to her；'' said old Sanders； with
convivial dignity； his glass raised on high。 ‘‘Here's wishing health and
happiness to the dreamy… eyed Tuscan beauty； whom you love and who
loves you。''
‘‘Stop！'' said Diotti； ‘‘we will drink to the first part of that toast；'' and
holding his glass against that of his bibulous host； continued： ‘‘To the
dreamy…eyed women of my country； exacting of their lovers； obedient to
their parents and loyal to their husbands；'' and his voice rose in sonorous
rhythm with the words。
‘‘Now for the rest of the toast； to the one you love and who loves you；''
came from Sanders。
‘‘To the one I love and who loves me； God bless her！'' fervently cried
the guest。
‘‘Is she a Tuscan？'' asked old Sanders slyly。
‘‘She is an angel！'' impetuously answered the violinist。
‘‘Then she is an American！'' said the old man gallantly。
‘‘She is an American；'' repeated Diotti； forgetting himself for the
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instant。
‘‘Let me see if I can guess her name；'' said old Sanders。 ‘‘It'sit's
Mildred Wallace！'' and his manner suggested a child solving a riddle。
The violinist； about to speak； checked himself and remained silent。
‘‘I sincerely pity Mildred if ever she falls in love；'' abstractedly
continued the host while filling another glass。
‘‘Pray why？'' was anxiously asked。
The old man shifted his position and assumed a confidential tone and
attitude： ‘‘Signor Diotti； jealousy is a more universal passion than love
itself。 Environment may develop our character； influence our tastes and
even soften our features； but heredity determines the intensity of the two
leading passions； love and jealousy。 Mildred's mother was a beautiful
woman； but consumed with an overpowering jealousy of her husband。 It
was because she loved him。 The body…guard of jealousyenvy； malice and
hatredwere not in her composition。 When Mildred was a child of twelve
I have seen her mother suffer the keenest anguish because Mr。 Wallace
fondled the child。 She thought the child had robbed her of her husband's
love。''
‘‘Such a woman as Miss Wallace would command the entire love and
admiration of her husband at all times；'' said the artist。
‘‘If she should marry a man she simply likes； her chances for
happiness would be normal。''
‘‘In what manner？'' asked the lover。
‘‘Because she would be little concerned about him or his actions。''
‘‘Then you believe；'' said the musician； ‘‘that the man who loves her
and whom she loves should give her up because her chances of happiness
would be greater away from him than with him？''
‘‘That would be an unselfish love；'' said the elder。
‘‘Suppose they have declared their passion？'' asked Diotti。
‘‘A parting before doubt and jealousy had entered her mind would let
the image of her sacrificing lover live within her soul as a tender and
lasting memory； he always would be her ideal；'' and the accent old Sanders
placed on ALWAYS left no doubt of his belief。
‘‘Why should doubt and jealousy enter her life？'' said the violinist；
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falling into the personal character of the discussion despite himself。
‘‘My dear sir； from what I observed to…night； she loves you。 You are a
dan… gerous man for a jealous woman to love。 You are not a cloistered
monk； you are a man before the public； you win the admiration of many；
some women do not hesitate to show you their preference。 To a woman
like Mildred that would be torture； she could not and would not separate
the professional artist from the lover or husband。''
And Diotti； remembering Mildred's words； could not refute the old
man's statements。
‘‘If you had known her mother as I did；'' continued the old man；
realizing his argument was making an impression on the violinist； ‘‘you
would see the agony in st