from his heart, but would not admit as much.

"If I could only speak Polish, Lois--but you know I can't," he said.
"Bread and salt, that's about what I should get in your country--and
perhaps be able to count the nails in the soles of my boots. What's the
good of telling me all about it? I saw that your father was angry, but
you people are always angry. And, little girl, he does his best for you.
Never forget that--he would sooner lose anything on earth than you."

"I don't believe it," said the girl, tossing her head angrily, "what's
he care about anything but that ole machine of his which he says they
stole from him? Ten hours have I been sewing to-day, Alb, and ten it
will be to-morrow. Truth, dear, upon my soul. What's father care so long
as the kettle boils and he can read the papers? And you're no
better--you'd take me away if you were--right away from here to the
gardens where he couldn't find me, and no one but you would ever find me
any more. That's what you'd do if you were as I want you to be. But you
ain't, Alb--you'll never care for any girl--now will you, Alb, dear?"

She clutched his arm and pressed closely to him, regardless of
passers-by so accustomed to love-making on the pavements that neither
man nor woman turned a head because of it. Alban Kennedy, however, was
frankly ashamed of the whole circumstance, and he pushed the girl away
from him as though her very touch offended.

"Look here, Lois, that's nonsense--let's go and see something, let's go
into the New Empire for an hour. Your father will be all right when he's
had a glass or two of vodki. You know he's always like this when there's
been news from Warsaw. Let's go and hear a turn and then you can tell me
what you want me to do."

They walked on a little way, she clinging to his arm timidly and looking
up often into his eyes as though for some expression of that affection
she hungered for unceasingly. The "Court" had named them for lovers long
ago, but the women declared that such an aristocrat as Alban Kennedy
would look twice before he put his neck into Paul Boriskoff's
matrimonial halter.

"A lot of good the Empire will do me to-night," Lois exclaimed
presently. "I feel more like dancing on my own grave than seeing other
people do it. What with father's temper and your cold shoulder, Alb--"

"Lois, that's unfair, dear; you know that I am sorry. But what can I do,
what can any one do for men who talk such nonsense as those fellows in