ion," said Barker.

"Do you have much racing in America?" asked Claudius.

"Just one or two," answered Barker, "generally on wheels."

"Wheels?"

"Yes. Trotting. Ag'd nags in sulkies. See how fast they can go a mile,"
explained the Duke. "Lots of shekels on it too, very often."

At last the evening came, and Claudius appeared in Barker's room arrayed
in full evening-dress. As Barker had predicted to himself, the result
was surprising. Claudius was far beyond the ordinary stature of men, and
the close-fitting costume showed off his athletic figure, while the
pale, aquiline features, with the yellow heard that looked gold at
night, contrasted in their refinement with the massive proportions of
his frame, in a way that is rarely seen save in the races of the far
north or the far south.

The Countess received them graciously, and Miss Skeat was animated. The
flowers that Claudius had sent the day before were conspicuously placed
on a table in the drawing-room. Mr. Barker, of course, took in the
Countess, and Miss Skeat put her arm in that of Claudius, inwardly
wondering how she could have overlooked the fact that he was so
excessively handsome. They sat at a round table on which were flowers,
and a large block of ice in a crystal dish.

"Do you understand Russian soups?" asked Margaret of Claudius, as she
deposited a spoonful of a wonderful looking _pate_ in the middle of her
_consomme_.

"Alas" said the Doctor, "I am no gastronome. At least my friend Mr.
Barker tells me so, but I have great powers of adaptation. I shall
follow your example, and shall doubtless fare sumptuously."

"Do not fear," said she, "you shall not have any more strange and
Cossack things to eat. I like some Russian things, but they are so
tremendous, that unless you have them first you cannot have them at
all."

"I think it is rather a good plan," said Barker, "to begin with
something characteristic. It settles the plan of action in one's mind,
and helps the memory."

"Do you mean in things in general, or only in dinner?" asked the
Countess.

"Oh, things in general, of course. I always generalise. In conversation,
for instance. Take the traditional English stage father. He always
devotes himself to everlasting perdition before he begins a
sentence,--and then you know what to expect."

"On the principle of knowing the worst--I understand," said Margaret.

"As long as people understand each other," Claudius put in, "it is
always bette