making an effort, you
know."

They went towards the others, Deulin leading the way.

"What beautiful violets," said he to Netty. "Surely Warsaw did not
produce those?"

"Yes, they are pretty," answered Netty, making a little movement to show
the flowers to greater advantage to Deulin and to Cartoner also. Her
waist was very round and slender. "They came from that shop in the
Senatorska or the Wirzbowa, I forget, quite, which street. Ulrich, I
think, was the name."

And she apparently desired to let the subject drop there.

"Yes," said Deulin, slowly. "Ulrich is the name. And you are fond of
violets?"

"I love them."

Deulin was making a silent, mental note of the harmless taste, when
dinner was announced.

"It was I who recommended Netty to investigate the Senatorska," said Mr.
Mangles, when they were seated. But Netty did not wish to be made the
subject of the conversation any longer. She was telling Cartoner,
who sat next to her, a gay little story, connected with some piece of
steamer gossip known only to himself and her. Is it not an accepted
theory that quiet men like best those girls who are lively?

Miss Mangles dispensed her brother's hospitality with that rather
labored ease of manner to which superior women are liable at such times
as they are pleased to desire their inferiors to feel comfortable, and
to enjoy themselves according to their lights.

Deulin perceived the situation at once, and sought information
respecting Poland, which was most graciously accorded him.

"And you have actually walked through the Jewish quarter?" he said,
noting, with the tail of his eye, that Cartoner was absent-minded.

"I entered the Franciszkanska near the old church of St. John, and
traversed the whole length of the street."

"And you formed an opinion upon the Semitic question in this country?"
asked the Frenchman, earnestly.

"I have."

And Deulin turned to his salmon, while Miss Mangles swept away in a few
chosen phrases the difficulties that have puzzled statesmen for fifteen
hundred years.

"I shall read a paper upon it at one of our historical Women's Congress
meetings--and I may publish," she said.

"It would be in the interests of humanity," murmured Deulin, politely.
"It would add to the . . . wisdom of the nations."

Across the table Netty was doing her best to make her uncle's guest
happy, seeking to please him in a thousand ways, which need not be
described.

"I know," she was saying at