t no message as to the time he
would return. Since Malcolm was anxious to meet this important
personage, he did not leave his letter, but went into the City to lunch
with an old college chum. In the afternoon he decided to make his call,
and only remembered, as he was walking up the Strand, that he had
intended satisfying his curiosity as to that "other neighbour" of his,
the Grand Duke Yaroslav.

There was a little crowd about Charing Cross Station, though it was
nearly two hours after midday when the Yaroslavs were due; and he was to
discover, on inquiry of a policeman, that the cause of this public
curiosity had been the arrival of two royal carriages.

"Some Russian prince or other," said the obliging bobby. "The boat was
late, and--here they come!"

Malcolm was standing on the side-walk in the courtyard of Charing Cross
Station when the two open landaus drove out through the archway. In the
first was a man a little over middle age, wearing a Russian uniform; but
Malcolm had no eyes for him--it was for the girl who sat by his side,
erect, haughty, almost disdainful, with her splendid beauty, and
apparently oblivious to all that was being said to her by the smiling
young man who sat on the opposite seat.

As the carriage came abreast and the postilions reined in their mounts
before turning into the crowded Strand, the girl turned her head for a
second and her eyes seemed to rest on Malcolm.

Instinctively he lifted his hat from his head, but it was not the girl
who returned his salutation, but the stiff figure of the elderly man at
her side who raised his hand with an automatic gesture. Only for a
second, and then she swept out of view, and Malcolm heaved a long, deep
sigh.

"Some dame!" said a voice at his side. "Well, I'm glad I saw him,
anyway."

Malcolm looked down at the speaker. He was a stout little man, who wore
his hard felt hat at a rakish angle. The butt of a fat cigar was
clenched between his teeth, and his genial eyes met Malcolm's with an
inviting frankness which was irresistible.

"That was his Grand Nibs, wasn't it?" asked the man, and Malcolm smiled.

"That was the Grand Duke, I think," he said.

"And who was the dame?"

"The dame?"

"I mean the lady, the young peacherino--gee! She was wonderful!"

Malcolm shared his enthusiasm but was not prepared to express himself
with such vigour.

"That girl," said his companion, speaking with evident sincerity, "is
wasted--what a face for a b