ent
with a woman," he often said. "She will only misconstrue it."

"It was odd that I should meet you at that moment," he said, at length,
for Netty had not attempted to break the silence. She never took the
initiative with Paul Deulin, but followed quite humbly and submissively
the conversational lead which he might choose to give. He broke off and
laughed. "I was going to say that it was odd that I should have met you
at a moment that I was thinking of you; but it would be odder still if
I could manage to meet you at a moment when I was not thinking of you,
would it not?"

"It was very kind of you," said Netty, "to think of me at the
race-meeting the other day, and to introduce me to the Bukatys. I am so
interested in the princess. She is so pretty, is she not? Such lovely
hair, and I think her face is so interesting--a face with a history, is
it not?"

"Yes," answered Deulin, rather shortly, "Wanda is a nice girl." He did
not seem to find the subject pleasing, and Netty changed her ground.

"And the prince," she said, "the old one, I mean--for this one, Prince
Martin, is quite a boy, is he not?"

"Oh yes--quite a boy," replied Deulin, absently, as he looked back over
his shoulder and saw Martin hurry into the flower-shop where he had
first perceived Netty and the young prince talking together.

"It is so sad that they are ruined--if they are really ruined."

"There is no doubt whatever about that," answered Deulin.

"But," said Netty, who was practical, "could nothing induce him--the
young prince, I mean--to abandon all these vague political dreams and
accept the situation as it is, and settle down to develop his estates
and recover his position?"

"You mean," said Deulin, "the domestic felicities. Your fine and
sympathetic heart would naturally think of that. You go about the world
like an unemployed and wandering angel, seeking to make the lives of
others happier. Those are dreams, and in Poland dreams are forbidden--by
the Czar. But they are the privilege of youth, and I like to catch an
occasional glimpse of your gentle dreams, my dear young lady."

Netty smiled a little pathetically, and glanced up at him beneath her
lashes, which were dark as lashes should be that veil violet eyes.

"Now you are laughing at me, because I am not clever," she said.

"Heaven forbid! But I am laughing at your dream for Martin Bukaty. He
will never come to what you suggest as the cure for his unsatisfactory
life. He ha