"Your parents?"
"Yes, they are the first, the best, the dearest. It is well known; my mother is an angel."
"I honour them, Lauretta."
"All do. That is why people like me; because I belong to them, and they to me."
"You are loved for yourself, Lauretta."
"No," she said, with pretty wilfulness, "because of them. Then there is Father Daniel, a saint, my mother says; then Eric and Emilius--and that is all, I think, who can be called special."
"Eric and Emilius?" I said, in the form of a question.
"Yes, they are brothers, handsome, brave, and strong. You will like them, I am sure you will."
Handsome, brave, and strong! I gave Lauretta a searching look, and she returned it smilingly. There was no blush, no self-consciousness. Why, then, should I feel disturbed? Why should Eric and Emilius become established in my mind as barriers to the happiness for which I yearned. I did not dare to trust myself to ask for information of these friends of Lauretta, so handsome, brave, and strong--I was fearful that my voice might betray me; and as I could converse on no other topic with ease, I remained silent while Lauretta chatted on sweetly and artlessly.