room this in which he sat, the library of Paul's London house. The noise
of Piccadilly reached his ears as a faint roar, not entirely unpleasant,
but sociable and full of life. Accustomed as he was to the great silence
of Russia, where sound seems lost in space, the hum of a crowded
humanity was a pleasant change to this philosopher, who loved his kind
while fully recognizing its little weaknesses.

While he sat there still wondering how many bushels of seed made a ton,
Paul Alexis came into the room. The younger man was in evening dress. He
looked at the clock rather eagerly.

"Will you dine here?" he asked, and Steinmetz wheeled around in his
chair. "I am going out to dinner," he explained further.

"Ah!" said the elder man.

"I am going to Mrs. Sydney Bamborough's."

Steinmetz bowed his head gravely. He said nothing. He was not looking at
Paul, but at the pattern of the carpet. There was a short silence. Then
Paul said, with entire simplicity:

"I shall probably ask her to marry me."

"And she will probably say yes."

"I am not so sure about that," said Paul, with a laugh. For this man was
without conceit. He had gradually been forced to admit that there are
among men persons whose natural inclination is toward evil, persons who
value not the truth, nor hold by honesty. But he was guileless enough to
believe that women are not so. He actually believed that women are
truthful and open and honorable. He believes it still, which is somewhat
startling. There are a few such dullards yet. "I do not see why she
should," he went on gravely. He was standing by the empty fire-place, a
manly, upright figure; one who was not very clever, not brilliant at
all, somewhat slow in his speech, but sure, deadly sure, in the honesty
of his purpose.

Karl Steinmetz looked at him and smiled openly, with the quaint air of
resignation that was his.

"You have never seen her, eh?" enquired Paul.

Steinmetz paused, then he told a lie, a good one, well told,
deliberately.

"No."

"We are going to the opera, Box F2. If you come in I shall have pleasure
in introducing you. The sooner you know each other the better. I am sure
you will approve."

"I think you ought to marry money."

"Why?"

Steinmetz laughed.

"Oh," he answered, "because every-body does who can. There is Catrina
Lanovitch, an estate as big as yours, adjoining yours. A great Russian
family, a good girl who--is willing."

Paul laughed, a good wholesome lau