Aunt Janes Nieces in Society | Page 5

trying to climb to you, your own position wouldn't be
worth a cotton hat."
Von Taer had no answer to this criticism. Perhaps he scarcely heard it,
for he appeared lost in a brown study. Finally he said: "Will you permit
my daughter to call upon your nieces, Mr. Merrick?"
"Of course, sir."
"Then kindly give me their addresses."
Uncle John wrote them on a slip of paper.
"You may now dismiss the subject from your mind, sir, as you lately
advised me to do. Whatever may be accomplished in the direction you
have suggested I will gladly undertake. If I succeed it will be
exceedingly gratifying to us all, I am sure."
Mr. Merrick left the office in a rather humbled and testy mood. He
disliked to ask favors at any time and now felt that he had confided
himself to the mercy of this callous aristocrat and met with a distinct
rebuff.
But he had done it for the sake of his beloved nieces--and they would
never know what humiliation this unsatisfactory interview had cost
him.
CHAPTER III
DIANA
Diana Von Taer can not be called a type. She was individual.
Aristocratic to her finger tips, she was unlike all other aristocrats. An
admitted queen of society, her subjects were few and indifferent. She

possessed ancient lineage, was highly accomplished, had been born to
the purple, as the saying is; but none of these things conspired to make
her the curious creature she was.
As we make her acquaintance she is twenty-three years of age--and
looks eighteen. She is tall and slender and carries her handsome form
with exquisite grace. Diana is never abrupt; her voice is ever modulated
to soft, even tones; she rises from a chair or couch with the lithe,
sinuous motion of a serpent uncoiling.
Her face, critically regarded, is not so admirable as her form. The
features are a trifle too elongated, and their delicacy is marred by a
nose a bit broad and unshapely and a mouth with thin lips primly set.
Her dark eyes might be magnificent if wide open: but through the
narrow slits of their lids, half hidden by long curling lashes, the eyes
peer at you with a cold, watchful, intent gaze that carries a certain
uncanny and disconcerting fascination.
Yet the girl is essentially feminine. If you refrain from meeting that
discomfiting gaze--and her familiars have learned to avoid it--Diana
impresses you as being graceful, dainty and possessed of charming
manners. Her taste in dress is perfect. She converses fluently on many
topics. It is her custom to rise at ten o'clock, whatever time she may
have retired the night before; to read until luncheon; to devote the
remainder of her day to the requirements of society.
Eligible young men of admitted social standing call upon Diana at such
intervals as the proprieties require. They chatter "small talk" and are
careful to address her with deference. With an exception to be referred
to later these young men have no more thought of "flirting" with Miss
Von Taer than they would with the statue of the goddess, her namesake.
Her dinner parties and entertainments are very successful. She is
greatly admired, per se, but has no intimate friends.
When her mother died, some years before, an aunt had come to live
with Diana, and now posed as her chaperon. Mrs. Cameron was a stolid,
corpulent lady, with a countenance perpetually placid and an habitual
aversion to displaying intellect. Her presence in the establishment,

although necessary, was frankly ignored. Fortunately she never
obtruded herself.
Hedrik Von Taer was passionately devoted to his daughter. He alone,
perhaps, of all the world, thoroughly understood her and appreciated
her talents. She may have frightened him at times, but that only added
to his admiration. In return Diana displayed a calm, but affectionate
regard for her father.
Often after dinner these two would pass an hour together in a corner of
the drawing-room, where the cold gray eyes of the man met the intent,
half-veiled glance of the girl with perfect understanding. They talked of
many things, including business. Hedrik had no secrets from his
daughter. The desperate condition of his finances, when he had been
caught in a "corner" on wheat and nearly crushed, had not dismayed her
in the least. It was she who had counseled him to appeal to John
Merrick, since the name and fame of the eccentric millionaire were
familiar to her as to him.
He related to Diana his interview with Mr. Merrick on his return home.
He was saved. The three hundred thousand were now in the bank to his
credit and he could weather the coming storm easily--perhaps with
profit. In a tone half amused, half serious, he told her of the little
millionaire's desire to secure