that moment, in not too loud a voice, "that
you dislike political women." Heaven knows how she knew it. "But I am
afraid I must confess to taking a great interest in Poland. Not the sort
of interest you would dislike, I hope. But a personal interest in the
people. I think I have never met people with quite the same qualities."

"Their chief quality is gameness," said Cartoner, thoughtfully.

"Yes, and that is just what appeals to English and Americans. I think
the princess is delightful--do you not think so?"

"Yes," answered Cartoner, looking straight in front of him.

"There must be a great many stories," went on Netty, "connected with
the story of the nation, which it would be so interesting to know--of
people's lives, I mean--of all they have attempted and have failed to
do."

Joseph was listening at his end of the table, with a kindly smile on his
lined face. He had, perhaps, a soft place in that cynical and dry
heart for his niece, and liked to hear her simple talk. Cartoner was
listening, with a greater attention than the words deserved. He was
weighing them with a greater nicety than experienced social experts
are in the habit of exercising over dinner-table talk. And Deulin was
talking hard, as usual, and listening at the same time; which is not by
any means an easy thing to do.

"I always think," continued Netty, "that the princess has a story.
There must, I mean, be some one at the mines or in Siberia, or somewhere
terrible like that, of whom she is always thinking."

And Netty's eyes were quite soft with a tender sympathy, as she glanced
at Cartoner.

"Perhaps," put in Deulin, hastily, between two of Julie's solemn
utterances. "Perhaps she is thinking of her brother--Prince Martin. He
is always getting into scrapes--ce jeune homme."

But Netty shook her head. She did not mean that sort of thought at all.

"It is your romantic heart," said Deulin, "that makes you see so much
that perhaps does not exist."

"If you want a story," put in Joseph Mangles, suddenly, in his deep
voice, "I can tell you one."

And because Joseph rarely spoke, he was accorded a silence.

"Waiter's a Finn, and says he doesn't understand English?" began
Mangles, looking interrogatively at Deulin, beneath his great eyebrows.

"Which I believe to be the truth," assented the Frenchman.

"Cartoner and Deulin probably know the story," continued Joseph, "but
they won't admit that they do. There was once a nobleman in this cit