ze upon material for future plots, and
somehow the notion of a mysterious Pole suddenly making his appearance in
that quiet country neighbourhood and winning undeserved popularity rather
took his fancy. He thought he might make something of it. However, he
knew human nature too well to ask a direct question.

"I am sorry to hear that," he said, becoming all at once quite
sympathetic and approachable. "I don't like the thought of those simple,
unsophisticated people being hoodwinked by a scoundrel."

"No; is it not sad?" said Mrs. Selldon. "Such pleasant, hospitable
people as they are! Do you remember the Morleys?"

"Oh yes! There was a pretty daughter who played tennis well."

"Quite so--Gertrude Morley. Well, would you believe it, this miserable
fortune-hunter is actually either engaged to her or on the eve of being
engaged! Poor Mrs. Milton-Cleave is so unhappy about it, for she knows,
on the best authority, that Mr. Zaluski is unfit to enter a respectable
house."

"Perhaps he is really some escaped criminal?" suggested Mr. Shrewsbury,
tentatively.

Mrs. Selldon hesitated. Then, under the cover of the general roar of
conversation, she said in a low voice:--

"You have guessed quite rightly. He is one of the Nihilists who were
concerned in the assassination of the late Czar."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mark Shrewsbury, much startled. "Is it
possible?"

"Indeed, it is only too true," said Mrs. Selldon. "I heard it only the
other morning, and on the very best authority. Poor Gertrude Morley! My
heart bleeds for her."

Now I can't help observing here that this must have been the merest
figure of speech, for just then there was a comfortable little glow of
satisfaction about Mrs. Selldon's heart. She was so delighted to have
"got on well," as she expressed it, with the literary lion, and by this
time dessert was on the table, and soon the tedious ceremony would be
happily over.

"But how did he escape?" asked Mark Shrewsbury, still with the thought of
"copy" in his mind.

"I don't know the details," said Mrs. Selldon. "Probably they are only
known to himself. But he managed to escape somehow in the month of March
1881, and to reach England safely. I fear it is only too often the case
in this world--wickedness is apt to be successful."

"To flourish like a green bay tree," said Mark Shrewsbury, congratulating
himself on the aptness of the quotation, and its suitability to the
Archediac