“In that case,” said Claudius, “the provocation is sufficient.  Let us send flowers immediately.”  And he took his hat from the table.

Thought Mr. Barker, “My show Doctor is going it;” but he translated his thoughts into English.

“I think that is a good idea.  I will send for a carriage.”

“It is only a step,” said Claudius, “we had much better walk.”

“Well, anything to oblige you.”

Claudius had good taste in such things, and the flowers he sent were just enough to form a beautiful ensemble, without producing an impression of lavish extravagance.  As Mr. Barker had said, the sending of flowers is a “pretty habit,”—­a graceful and gentle fashion most peculiar to America.  There is no country where the custom is carried to the same extent; there is no other country where on certain occasions it is requested, by advertisement in the newspapers, “that no flowers be sent.”  Countess Margaret was charmed, and though Miss Skeat, who loved roses and lilies, poor thing, offered to arrange them and put them in water, the dark lady would not let her touch them.  She was jealous of their beauty.

The time seemed long to Claudius, though he went in the meanwhile with Barker and the British aristocracy to certain races.  He rather liked the racing, though he would not bet.  The Duke lost some money, and Barker won a few hundred francs from a Russian acquaintance.  The Duke drank curacao and potass water, and Mr. Barker drank champagne, while Claudius smoked innumerable cigarettes.  There were a great many bright dresses, there was a great deal of shouting, and the congregation of the horse-cads was gathered together.

“It does not look much like Newmarket, does it?” said the Duke.

“More like the Paris Exposition, without the exposition,” said Barker.

“Do you have much racing in America?” asked Claudius.

“Just one or two,” answered Barker, “generally on wheels.”

“Wheels?”

“Yes.  Trotting.  Ag’d nags in sulkies.  See how fast they can go a mile,” explained the Duke.  “Lots of shekels on it too, very often.”

At last the evening came, and Claudius appeared in Barker’s room arrayed in full evening-dress.  As Barker had predicted to himself, the result was surprising.  Claudius was far beyond the ordinary stature of men, and the close-fitting costume showed off his athletic figure, while the pale, aquiline features, with the yellow heard that looked gold at night, contrasted in their refinement with the massive proportions of his frame, in a way that is rarely seen save in the races of the far north or the far south.

The Countess received them graciously, and Miss Skeat was animated.  The flowers that Claudius had sent the day before were conspicuously placed on a table in the drawing-room.  Mr. Barker, of course, took in the Countess, and Miss Skeat put her arm in that of Claudius, inwardly wondering how she could have overlooked the fact that he was so excessively handsome.  They sat at a round table on which were flowers, and a large block of ice in a crystal dish.