"Prince Waldemar Sondersheim."
When she heard the name Eveline threw down her pen and sprang hastily to her feet.
"No," she said, decidedly, "never!"
The abbé burst into a shrill laugh. "Your excitement is very becoming," he said. "You are a fine actress."
"I shall not invite Prince Sondersheim to my concert," returned Eveline, seating herself on the sofa with a defiant air.
"Is the prince disagreeable to you?"
"I loathe him."
"Do you imagine that the world contains nothing but simpletons like Arpad Belenyi?"
Eveline got up from the sofa, went to the writing-table, and tore the programme she had been writing into a hundred pieces.
"Arpad may stay at home, tied to his mother's apron-strings. I don't want him nor any one. I'll give up the concert;" and she threw the torn fragments of her programme into the fireplace.