Russian memories, and you will probably find that you know
her too," replies Mrs. Curzon.

"Oh, she is Russian?" says Gervase, then adds, negligently, "I think,
now you tell me that, I have seen her before. Is she not the Princess
Sabaroff?"

"Why did you pretend not to know her?" thinks Nina Curzon as she
answers, "Yes, that is her name. You must have met her in Petersburg."

"Petersburg is very dim in my memories," he replies, evasively. "Its
baccarat is what made the deepest impression on my remembrance and my
fortunes. Now I think of it, however, I recollect her quite well: her
husband was Anatole Sabaroff, and Lustoff shot him in a duel about her?
Am I right?"

"So charming for her!" says Nina Curzon. "Englishwomen never have
anything happen for them picturesque like that: our men always die of
indigestion, or going after a fox."

"It is very curious."

"What is? Dyspepsia? Hunting?"

"How one comes across people."

"'After long years,'" quotes Mrs. Curzon, with mock romance in her
tones. "Generally, I think," she adds, with a little yawn, "we can never
get rid of our people, the world is so small, and there is really only
one set in it that is decent, so we can't ever get out of it. It must
have been very nice in Romeo and Juliet's days, when a little drive to
Mantua took you into realms wholly inaccessible to your Verona
acquaintances. Nowadays, if you run away from anybody in London you are
sure to run against them in Yeddo or Yucatan."

"Constancy made easy, like the three R's," says Gervase. "Unfortunately,
despite our improved facilities, we are not constant."

"He means to imply that he threw over the Sabaroff," thinks Mrs. Curzon;
"but he is such a boaster of his _bonnes fortunes_ that one can never
know whether he is lying."

"Pray let me make you known to Madame Sabaroff," says Lady Usk to him, a
little later. "She is such a very dear friend of mine, and I see you
have been looking at her ever since she entered the room."

"She is a very handsome person: any one would look at her," replies her
cousin. Were he not so perfectly well-bred and impassive, it might
almost be said that the suggested presentation fills him with some vague
nervousness.

Nina Curzon watches him inquisitively as he is led up and presented to
Madame Sabaroff.

"I think I have had the honor before now, in Petersburg," murmurs
Gervase. She looks at him very coldly.

"I think not," she replies. The words are of the