look, a picturesque turn of the
head--a sense, as it were, of the outwardly pictorial side of existence.
He moved his chair, in order to turn his back on a Russian officer who
was seated near, and did it absently, as if mechanically closing his eye
to something unsightly and conducive to discomfort. Then he turned to
his coffee with a youthful spirit of enjoyment.

"All this would be mildly amusing," he said, "at say any other hour of
the twenty-four, but at three in the morning it is rather poor fun. Do
you succeed in sleeping in these German schlafwagens?"

"I can sleep anywhere," replied Cartoner, and his companion glanced at
him inquiringly. It seemed that he was sleepy now, and did not wish to
talk.

"I know Alexandrowo pretty well," the other volunteered, nevertheless,
"and the ways of these gentlemen. With some of them I am quite on
friendly terms. They are inconceivably stupid; as boring as--the
multiplication-table. I am going to Warsaw; are you? I fancy we have the
sleeping-car to ourselves. I live in Warsaw as much as anywhere."

He paused to feel in his pocket, not for his cigarettes this time, but
for a card.

"I know who you are," said Cartoner, quietly: "I recognized you from
your likeness to your sister. I was dancing with her forty-eight hours
ago in London."

"Wanda?" inquired the other, eagerly. "Dear old Wanda! How is she? She
was the prettiest girl in the room, I bet."

He leaned across the table.

"Tell me," he said, "all about them. But, first, tell me your name.
Wanda writes to me nearly every day, and I hear about all their
friends--the Orlays and the others. What is your name? She is sure to
have made mention of it in her letters."

"Reginald Cartoner."

"Ah! I have heard of you--but not from Wanda."

He paused to reflect.

"No," he added, rather wonderingly, after a pause. "No, she never
mentioned your name. But, of course, I know it. It is better known
out of England than in your own country, I fancy. Deulin--you know
Deulin?--has spoken to us of you. No doubt we have dozens of other
friends in common. We shall find them out in time. I am very glad to
meet you. You say you know my name--yes, I am Martin Bukaty. Odd that
you should have recognized me from my likeness to Wanda. I am very glad
you think I am like her. Dear old Wanda! She is a better sort than I am,
you know."

And he finished with a frank and hearty laugh--not that there was
anything to laugh at, but merely be