laudius was not thinking of
producing an effect, for the fascination of the dark woman was upon him,
and the low, strange voice bewitched him, so he said what came
uppermost.

"Yes," said he, "there are persons whose lives may indeed be matters of
fact to themselves--who shall say?--but who are always dreams in the
lives of others."

"Charming," laughed the Countess, "do you always talk like that,
Professor Claudius?"

"I have always thought," Mr. Barker remarked in his high-set voice,
"that I would like to be the dream of somebody's life. But somehow
things have gone against me."

The other two laughed. He did not strike one as the sort of individual
who would haunt the love-sick dreams of a confiding heart.

"I would rather it were the other way," said Claudius thoughtfully.

"And I," rejoined the American, "would drink perdition to the
unattainable."

"Either I do not agree with you, Mr. Barker," said the Countess, "or
else I believe nothing is unattainable."

"I implore you to be kind, and believe the latter," he answered
courteously.

"Come, I will show you my garden," said Margaret rising. "It is
pleasanter in the open air." She led the way out through the glass door,
the men walking on her right and left.

"I am very fond of my garden," she said, "and I take great care of it
when I am here." She stopped and pulled two or three dead leaves off a
rosebush to illustrate her profession of industry.

"And do you generally live here?" asked Claudius, who was as yet in
complete ignorance of the Countess's name, title, nationality, and mode
of life, for Mr. Barker had, for some occult reason, left him in the
dark.

Perhaps the Countess guessed as much, for she briefly imparted a good
deal of information.

"When Count Alexis, my husband, was alive, we lived a great deal in
Russia. But I am an American like Mr. Barker, and I occasionally make a
trip to my native country. However, I love this place in summer, and I
always try to be here. That is my friend, Miss Skeat, who lives with
me."

Miss Skeat was stranded under a tree with a newspaper and several books.
Her polished cheekbones and knuckles glimmered yellow in the shade. By
her side was a long cane chair, in which lay a white silk wrap and a bit
of needlework, tumbled together as the Countess had left them when she
went in to receive her visitors. Miss Skeat rose as the party
approached. The Countess introduced the two men, who bowed low, and they