ure. She had not arrived at a clear definition in her own mind as to
what she thought of Cartoner. She was quite sure, however, that he was
different from other men.

She had not seen Kosmaroff again, and the memory of her strange
interview with him had lost sharpness. But she was conscious of a
conviction that he had merely to come again, and he would regain at once
the place he had so suddenly and violently taken in her thoughts. She
knew that he was in the background of her mind, as it were, and might
come forward at any moment. She often walked down the Bednarska to the
river, and displayed much interest in the breaking up of the ice.

As to Prince Martin Bukaty, she had definitely settled that he was nice.
It is a pity that the word nice as applied to the character of a young
man dimly suggests a want of interest. He was so open and frank that
there was really no mystery whatever about him. And Netty rather liked
a mystery. Of course it was most interesting that he should be a prince.
Even Aunt Julie, that great teacher of equality, closed her lips after
speaking of the Bukatys, with an air of tasting something pleasant. It
was a great pity that the Bukatys were so poor. Netty gave a little sigh
when she thought of their poverty.

In the mean time, Martin was the only person at hand. She did not count
Paul Deulin, who was quite old, of course, though interesting enough
when he chose to be. Netty walked backward and forward down the broad
walk in the middle of those gardens, which the government have so
frequently had to close against public manifestations, and wondered
why Martin was so long in coming. For the chance meetings had gradually
resolved themselves into something very much like an understanding,
if not a distinct appointment. All people engaging in the game of love
should be warned that it is a game which never stands still, but must
move onward or backward. You may play it one day in jest, and find that
it must be played in earnest next time. You may never take it up just
where you left it, for the stake must always be either increasing or
diminishing. And this is what makes it rather an interesting game. For
you may never tell what it may grow to, and while it is in progress,
none ever believe that it will have an end.

Netty liked Martin very much. Had he been a rich prince instead of a
poor one, she would, no doubt, have liked him very much better. And it
is a thousand pities that more young perso