twenty-two; and there were at least six attaches and
secretaries of legation who entered upon a tournament for her heart and
hand; but she was not for them. All her fine faculties of tact and
fairness, of harmless strategy, and her gifts of wit and unexpected humor
were needed to keep her cavaliers constant and hopeful to the last; but
she never faltered, and she did not fail. The faces of old men brightened
when they saw her, and one or two ancient figures who, for years, had been
seldom seen at social functions now came when they knew she was to be
present. There were, of course, a few women who said she would coquette
with any male from nine to ninety; but no man ever said so; and there was
none, from first to last, but smiled with pleasure at even the mention of
her name, so had her vivacity, intelligence, and fine sympathy conquered
them. She was a social artist by instinct. In their hearts they all
recognized how fair and impartial she was; and she drew out of every man
the best that was in him. The few women who did not like her said that she
chattered; but the truth was she made other people talk by swift
suggestion or delicate interrogation.

After the blow fell, Freddy Hartzman put the matter succinctly, and told
the truth faithfully, when he said: "The first time I met her, I told her
all I'd ever done that could be told, and all I wanted to do; including a
resolve to carry her off to some desert place and set up a Kingdom of Two.
I don't know how she did it. I was like a tap, and poured myself out; and
when it was all over I thought she was the best talker I'd ever heard. But
yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put in a question
here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your watch. Oh, she was
a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never been sorry I told her
all my little story! It did me good. Poor darling--it makes me sick
sometimes when I think of it. Yet she'll win out all right--a hundred to
one she'll win out. She was a star."

Freddy Hartzman was in an embassy of repute; he knew the chancelleries and
salons of many nations, and was looked upon as one of the ablest and
shrewdest men in the diplomatic service. He had written one of the best
books on international law in existence, he talked English like a native,
he had published a volume of delightful verse, and had omitted to publish
several others, including a tiny volume which Sally Seabrook's charms had
inspired