a sob, 'and I assure
you, my dear friend, that I never now touch a razor without an impulse,
to which I expect I shall one day succumb, to put it to a desperate
use.'"

There was a singing in my ears, and my brain was whirling. This story,
heartlessly and irreverently told, was the tragedy of my life!

I had breathed it to no human soul--_save one_!

I rose from my seat, wondering within myself whether my agitation was
visible to those around me, and went over to the other side of the room
whence I could obtain a view of the speaker. There were the deep, dark
eyes, there were the full sensuous lips, the upper shaded with an
impalpable down, there was the charcoal-black hair! I knew too well that
rich contralto voice! It was my Fascinating Friend!

Before I had fully realized the situation she rose, handed her empty
tea-cup to the Cabinet-Minister, bowed to him and his companion, and
made her way up to the hostess, evidently intending to take her leave.
As she turned away, after shaking hands cordially with Lady X----, her
eyes met mine intently fixed upon her. She did not start, she neither
flushed nor turned pale; she simply raised for an instant her finely
arched eyebrows, and as her tall figure sailed past me out of the room,
she turned upon me the same exquisite and irresistible smile with which
my Fascinating Friend had offered me his cigarette-case that evening
among the olive-trees.

I hurried up to Lady X----.

"Who is the lady who has just left the room?" I asked.

"Oh, that is the Baroness M----," she replied. "She is half an
Englishwoman, half a Pole. She was my daughter's bosom friend at
Girton--a most interesting girl."

"Is she a politician?" I asked.

"No; that's the one thing I don't like about her. She is not a bit of a
patriot; she makes a joke of her country's wrongs and sufferings. Should
you like to meet her? Dine with us the day after to-morrow. She is to be
here."

* * * * *

I dined at Lady X----'s on the appointed day, but the Baroness was not
there. Urgent family affairs had called her suddenly to Poland.

A week later the assassination of the Czar sent a thrill of horror
through the civilized world.

* * * * *

"Don't you think your friend might be held an accessory after the fact
to the death of the German?" asked the Novelist, when all the flattering
comments, which were many, were at an end. "And an accessory be