ot hurt, thank you. Yes, that is my brother. May I introduce
him? Martin. Miss Cahere--my brother."

And the introduction was effected, which was perhaps what Netty wanted.
She did not take much notice of Martin, but continued to talk to Wanda.

"It must be so interesting," she said, "to live in Warsaw and to be able
to help the poor people who are so down-trodden."

"But I do nothing of that sort," replied Wanda. "It is only in books
that women can do anything for the people of their country. All I can
do for Poland is to see that one old Polish gentleman gets what he likes
for dinner, and to housekeep generally--just as you do when you are at
home, no doubt."

"Oh," protested Netty, "but I am not so useful as that. That is what
distresses me. I seem to be of no use to anybody. And I am sure I could
never housekeep."

And some faint line of thought, suggested perhaps by the last remark,
made her glance in passing at Martin. It was so quick that only Martin
saw it. At all events, Paul Deulin appeared to be looking rather
vacantly in another direction.

"I suppose Miss Mangles does all that when you are at home?" said Wanda,
glancing towards the great woman, who was just out of ear-shot.

"My dear Wanda," put in Deulin, in a voice of gravest protest, "you
surely do not expect that of a lady who housekeeps for all humanity.
Miss Mangles is one of our leaders of thought. I saw her so described in
a prominent journal of Smithville, Ohio. Miss Mangles, in her care for
the world, has no time to think of an individual household."

"Besides," said Netty, "we have no settled home in America. We live
differently. We have not the comfort of European life."

And she gave a little sigh, looking wistfully across the plain. Martin
noticed that she had a pretty profile, and the tenderest little droop of
the lips.

At this moment a race, the last on the card, put a stop to further
conversation, and Netty refused, very properly, to deprive Martin of the
use of his field-glasses.

"I can see," she said, in her confidential way, "well enough for myself
with my own eyes."

And Martin looked into the eyes, so vaunted, with much interest.

"I am sure," she said to Wanda, when the race was over, "that I saw Mr.
Cartoner a short time ago. Has he gone?"

"I fancy he has," was the reply.

"He did not see us. And we quite forgot to tell him the number of our
box. I only hope he was not offended. We saw a great deal of him on
boa