"
he said, quietly.

The eyes of the butler fell. He was struggling with this unexpected
morsel in the recesses of his being. Plain Mr. Alexander would have had
small effect upon him; but Achilles Alexandrakis--! He mounted the long
staircase, holding the syllables in his set teeth.

"Alexandrakis?" His mistress turned a little puzzled frown upon him.
"What is he like, Conner?"

The man considered a safe moment. "He's a furriner," he said, addressing
the wall before him with impassive jaw.

A little light crossed her face--not a look of pleasure. "Ask Miss Stone
to come to me--at once," she said.

The man bowed himself out and departed on silken foot.

Miss Stone, gentle and fluttering and fine-grained, appeared a moment
later in the doorway.

"He has come," said the woman, without looking up.

"He--?" Miss Stone's lifted eyebrows sought to place him--

"The Greek--I told you--"

"Oh--The Greek--!" It was slow and hesitant. It spoke volumes for Miss
Stone's state of mind. Hours of Greek history were in it, and long rows
of tombs and temples--the Parthenon of gods and goddesses, with a few
outlying scores of heroes and understudies. "The--Greek," she repeated,
softly.

"The Greek," said the woman, with decision. "He has asked for Betty and
for me. I cannot see him, of course."

"You have the club," said Miss Stone, in soft assent.

"I have the club--in ten minutes." Her brow wrinkled. "You will kindly
see him--"

"And Betty--?" said Miss Stone, waiting.

"The child must see him. Yes, of course. She would be heart-broken--You
drive at three," she added, without emphasis.

"We drive at three," repeated Miss Stone.

She moved quietly away, her grey gown a bit of shimmering in the
gorgeous rooms. She had been chosen for the very qualities that made
her seem so curiously out of place--for her gentleness and unassuming
dignity, and a few ancestors. The country had been searched for a
lady--so much the lady that she had never given the matter a thought.
Miss Stone was the result. If Betty had charm and simplicity and
instinctive courtesy toward those whom she met, it was only what she saw
every day in the little grey woman who directed her studies, her play,
her whole life.

The two were inseparable, light and shadow, morning and night. Betty's
mother in the house was the grand lady--beautiful to look upon--the
piece of bronze, or picture, that went with the house; but Miss Stone
was Betty's own--the li