t of needle-work. She, too, was silent, and her gentle
face was bent over her hand. I can remember exactly how she always looks
when she is working, and how her soft brown hair, that is just turning a
little gray at the temples, waves above her forehead. Chrysophrasia
Dabstreak lay languidly extended upon a couch, her thin hands clasped
together in a studied attitude. She was bemoaning the evils of
civilization, and no one was listening to her, for Hermione and I were
engaged in putting a new silver collar round the neck of Fang; the great
hound sat up patiently between us, yawning prodigiously from time to
time, for the operation was tedious, and the patent lock of the collar
would not fasten.

"I was just going to say it was time the letters came," said Mrs.
Carvel, as the door opened and a servant entered with the post-bag. The
master of the house unlocked the leathern case, and distributed the
contents. We each received our share, and without ceremony opened our
letters. There was a short silence while we were all reading.

"Macaulay has got his leave," said Mrs. Carvel, joyfully. "Is not that
delightful! And he is going to bring--wait a minute--I cannot make out
the name--let me get nearer to the light, dear--John, look here, is it
not Paul Patoff? Look, dear!"

John looked. "It is certainly Paul Patoff," he said quietly. "I told
Macaulay to bring him."

"Gracious!" ejaculated Hermione.

"How extremely interesting!" said Miss Chrysophrasia. "I adore Russians!
They have such a joyous savor of the wild, free steppes!"

"You have exactly described the Russian of the steppes, Miss Dabstreak,"
I remarked. "His savor is so wild that it is perceptible at a great
distance. But Patoff is not at all a bad fellow. I met him in Teheran
last year. He had a trick of beating his servants which excited the
wildest admiration among the Persians. The Shah decorated him before he
left."

"Do you know him?" asked John Carvel quickly, as he caught my last
words.

"Yes. I was just telling Miss Dabstreak that I met Paul Patoff last
year. He was at the Russian legation in Teheran." John showed do
surprise, and relapsed into silence.

"He and Macaulay are both in Paris," said Mrs. Carvel, "and I suppose
Macaulay has made up his mind that we must know his cousin."

"Is not Professor Cutter coming, too, mamma?" asked Hermione. "I heard
papa say so the other day."

"Oh, dear, yes!" exclaimed Chrysophrasia, wearily. "Professor Cu