that the least breath of suspicion will get us
into endless trouble. The authorities know that Stepan Lanovitch has
escaped. At any moment the Charity League scandal may be resuscitated.
We do not want fellows like De Chauxville prowling about. I know the
man. He is a d--d scoundrel who would sell his immortal soul if he could
get a bid for it. What is he coming to Thors for? He is not a sportsman;
why, he would be afraid of a cock pheasant, though he would be plucky
enough among the hens. You don't imagine he is in love with Catrina, do
you?"

"No," said Paul sharply, "I don't."

Steinmetz raised his bushy eyebrows. Etta and De Chauxville skated past
them at that moment, laughing gayly.

"I have been thinking about it," went on Steinmetz, "and I have come to
the conclusion that our friend hates you personally. He has a grudge
against you of some sort. Of course he hates me--cela va sans dire. He
has come to Russia to watch us. That I am convinced of. He has come here
bent on mischief. It may be that he is hard up and is to be bought. He
is always to be bought, ce bon De Chauxville, at a price. We shall see."

Steinmetz paused and glanced at Paul. He could not tell him more. He
could not tell him that his wife had sold the Charity League papers to
those who wanted them. He could not tell him all that he knew of Etta's
past. None of these things could Karl Steinmetz, in the philosophy that
was his, tell to the person whom they most concerned. And who are we
that we may hold him wrong? The question of telling and withholding is
not to be dismissed in a few words. But it seems very certain that there
is too much telling, too much speaking out, and too little holding in,
in these days of much publicity. There is a school of speakers-out, and
would to Heaven they would learn to hold their tongues. There is a
school for calling a spade by no other name, and they have still to
learn that the world is by no means interested in their clatter of
shovels.

The Psalmist knew much of which he did not write, and the young men of
the modern school of poesy and fiction know no more, but they lack the
good taste of the singer of old. That is all.

Karl Steinmetz was a man who formed his opinion on the best
basis--namely, experience, and that had taught him that a bold reticence
does less harm to one's neighbor than a weak volubility.

Paul was an easy subject for such treatment. His own method inclined to
err on the side of ret