ng his broad hand.

Richard making no return, Storri and the others went back to their
decanters.

Richard might have said, and would have believed, that he did not like
Storri because of a Siberian rudeness and want of breeding. It is to be
thought, however, that his antipathy arose rather from having heard the
day before Storri's name coupled with that of Dorothy Harley. The Russ
was a caller at the Harley house, it seemed, and rumor gave it that he
and Mr. Harley were together in speculations. At that Richard hated
Storri with the dull integrity of a healthy, normal animal, just as he
would have hated any man who raised his eyes to Dorothy Harley; for you
are to know that Richard was in a last analysis even more savage than
was Storri himself, and withal as jealously hot as a coal of fire.
Presently Storri departed, and Richard forgot him in a reverie of smoke.

It stood the quarter of three, and Richard took up his walk to the
Harleys'. It was no mighty journey, being but two blocks.

In the Harley drawing room whom should Richard meet but Storri. The Russ
was on the brink of departure. At that meeting Richard's face clouded.
Dorothy was alone with Storri; her mother had been called temporarily
from the room. At sight of Dorothy's flower-like hand in Storri's hairy
paw, Richard's eyes turned jade.

"Mr. Storms," said Dorothy, as Richard paused in the door, "permit me to
present Count Storri."

"Ah!" whispered Storri, beneath his breath, "see now how my word comes
true!"

With that he put out his hand like a threat.

Storri's exultation fell frost-nipped in greenest bud. It was as though
some implacable destiny had seized his hand. In vain did Storri put
forth his last resource of strength--he who crushed horseshoes and
twisted pokers! Like things of steel Richard's fingers closed grimly and
invincibly upon those of Storri. The Russian strove to recover his hand;
against the awful force that held him his boasted strength was as the
strength of children.

Storri looked into Richard's eyes; they were less ferocious, but
infinitely more relentless than his own. There was that, too, in the
other's look which appalled the Tartar soul of Storri--something in the
drawn brow, the eye like agate, the jaw as iron as the hand! And ever
more and a little more that fearful grip came grinding. The onyx eyes
glared in terror; the tortured forehead, white as paper, became spangled
with drops of sweat.

There arose a smo