ejaculated the Countess Margaret, looking out of the
window rather pensively.

"Countess," said the American, "if I had enjoyed the advantage of your
acquaintance even twenty-four hours I would venture to ask leave to
present my friend to you. As it is--" Mr. Barker paused.

"As it is I will grant you the permission unasked," said the Countess
quietly, still looking out of the window. "I am enough of an American
still to know that your name is a guarantee for any one you introduce."

"You are very kind," said Mr. Barker modestly. Indeed the name of Barker
had long been honourably known in connection with New York enterprise.
The Barkers were not Dutch, it is true, but they had the next highest
title to consideration in that their progenitor had dwelt in Salem,
Massachusetts.

"Bring him in the morning," said the Countess, after a moment's thought.

"About two?"

"Oh no! At eleven or so. I am a very early person. I get up at the
screech of dawn."

"Permit me to thank you on behalf of my friend as well as for myself,"
said Mr. Barker, bending low over the dark lady's hand as he took his
departure.

"So glad to have seen you. It is pleasant to meet a civilised countryman
in these days."

"It can be nothing to the pleasure of meeting a charming countrywoman,"
replied Mr. Barker, and he glided from the room.

The dark lady stood for a moment looking at the door through which her
visitor had departed. It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she
rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought
them. The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully
through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent
for Miss Skeat.

"What a tiny little world it is!" said Margaret, by way of opening the
conversation.

Miss Skeat sat down by the table. She was thin and yellow, and her bones
were on the outside. She wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and was well
dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and
sinewy neck. She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified
elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.

"Apropos of anything especial?" asked she, seeing that the Countess
expected her to say something.

"Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg?"

"Perfectly," replied Miss Skeat.

"And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in
_Lohengrin_?"

"Yes, and who must have been a professor. I rem