t was scarcely five o'clock the next day when Cartoner was conducted by
a page-boy to the Bukatys' rooms in the quiet old hotel in Kensington.
The Princess Wanda was alone. She was dressed in black. There is in some
Varsovian families a heritage of mourning to be worn until Poland is
reinstated. She was slightly but strongly made. Like her father and her
brother, there was a suggestion of endurance in her being, such as is
often found in slightly made persons.

"I came as early as I could," said Cartoner, and, as he spoke, the clock
struck.

The princess smiled as she shook hands, and then perceived that she had
not been intended to show amusement. Cartoner had merely made a rather
naive statement in his low monotone. She thought him a little odd, and
glanced at him again. She changed color slightly as she turned towards a
chair. He was quite grave and honest.

"That is kind of you," she said, speaking English without the least
suspicion of accent; for she had had an English governess all her life.
"My father will take it to mean that you wanted to come, and are not
only taking pity on lonely foreigners. He will be here in a minute. He
has just been called away."

"It was very kind of him to ask me to call," replied Cartoner.

There was a simple directness in his manner of speech which was quite
new to the Princess Wanda. She had known few Englishmen, and her own
countrymen had mostly the manners of the French. She had never met a
man who conveyed the impression of purpose and of the habit of going
straight towards his purpose so clearly as this. Cartoner had not come
to pay an idle visit. She wondered why he had come. He did not rush into
conversation, and yet his silence had no sense of embarrassment in it.
His hair was turning gray above the temples. She could see this as
he took a chair near the window. He was probably ten years older than
herself, and gave the impression of experience and of a deep knowledge
of the world. From living much alone he had acquired the habit of
wondering whether it was worth while to say that which came into his
mind--which is a habit fatal to social success.

"Monsieur Deulin dined with us last night," said the princess, following
the usual instinct that silence between strangers is intolerable. "He
talked a great deal of you."

"Ah, Deulin is a diplomatist. He talks too much."

"He accuses you of talking too little," said Wanda, with some spirit.

"You see, there are only tw