atinsky should know," her father observed. "He was here twelve years
ago. He came over with the first commission which established regular
relations with the British Government."

"No doubt," she said equably, "he was able to gauge the official
outlook, but this country, during the last ten years, has gone through
great vicissitudes. Besides, it is not only the official outlook in
which Paul is interested. He doesn't understand, and frankly I don't,
the position of what they call over here 'the man in the street.' You
see, he must be either a fool, or he must be grossly deceived."

"So far as my dealings with him go, I should never call the Englishman a
fool," Karetsky confessed.

"There are degrees and conditions of fools," his daughter declared
calmly. "A man with a perfectly acute brain may have simply idiotic
impulses towards credulity, and a credulous man is always a fool.
Anyhow, I know what Paul wants."

There was a knock at the door. Karetsky opened it and stood aside to let
Nigel pass in. Naida held out her hand to the latter with a smile.

"I am so glad that you have come," she said, raising her eyes for a
minute to his. "Father, you remember Lord Dorminster?"

The two men exchanged a few commonplace remarks. Then Karetsky reached
for his hat.

"Your arrival, Lord Dorminster," he observed, "leaves me free to make a
few calls myself. We shall, I trust, meet again."

Nigel murmured a few courteous words and watched the retreating figure
with some curiosity.

"Your father is very typical," he declared. "He reminds me of your
country itself. He is massive, has suggestions of undeveloped strength."

"Add that he is a little ponderous," Naida said lightly, "slow to make
up his mind, but as obstinate as the Urals themselves, and you have
described him. Now tell me what you think of a young woman who rings you
up without the slightest encouragement and invites you to come to the
Opera purposely to visit her box."

"I deny the absence of encouragement, and I am very grateful for the
opportunity of coming," Nigel answered. "And if I were to tell you all
that I think of you," he added, after a moment's pause, "it would take
me a great deal longer than this quarter of an hour's interval."

These were their first few moments absolutely alone. Neither of them was
unduly emotional, neither wholly free from experience, yet they looked
and spoke and felt as though the coming of new things was at hand. The
atmosph