for your own sake, I would help
you because you are poor Alexis's brother." There was no emotion in her
voice at the mention of her dead husband, only a certain reverence. She
had honoured him more than she had loved him.

"Princesse, quand meme," said Nicholas in a low voice, as he raised her
fingers to his lips.

"Leave me your address before you go. I will write as soon as I have
decided what to do." Nicholas scratched the name of a hotel on his card.

When he was gone Margaret sank into a chair. She would have sent for
Claudius--Claudius was a friend--but she recollected his note, and
thought with some impatience that just when she needed him most he was
away. Then she thought of Lady Victoria, and she rang the bell. But Lady
Victoria had gone out with her brother, and they had taken Miss Skeat.
Margaret was left alone in the great hotel. Far off she could hear a
door shut or the clatter of the silver covers of some belated breakfast
service finding its way up or down stairs. And in the street the eternal
clatter and hum and crunch, and crunch and hum and clatter of men and
wheels; the ceaseless ring of the tram-cars stopping every few steps to
pick up a passenger, and the jingle of the horses' bells as they moved
on. It was hot--it was very hot. Clementine was right, it was
_hebetant_, as it can be in New York in September. She bethought herself
that she might go out and buy things, that last resource of a rich woman
who is tired and bored.

Buy things! She had forgotten that she was ruined. Well, not quite that,
but it seemed like it. It would be long before she would feel justified
in buying anything more for the mere amusement of the thing. She tried
to realise what it would be like to be poor. But she failed entirely, as
women of her sort always do. She was brave enough if need be; if it must
come, she had the courage to be poor. But she had not the skill to paint
to herself what it would be like. She could not help thinking of
Claudius. It would be so pleasant just now to have him sitting there by
her side, reading some one of those wise books he was so fond of.

It was so hot. She wished something would happen. Poor Nicholas! He need
not have been so terribly cut up about the money. Who is there? It was
Vladimir. Vladimir brought a card. Yes, she would see the gentleman.
Vladimir disappeared, and a moment after ushered in Mr. Horace
Bellingham, commonly known as "Uncle Horace."

"I am so glad to see yo