The Russian’s card bore the name Baron Belsky, with the baron crossed out in pencil, and he began to attack in Mrs. Lander the demerits of the American character, as he had divined them.  He instructed her that her countrymen existed chiefly to make money; that they were more shopkeepers than the English and worse snobs; that their women were trivial and their men sordid; that their ambition was to unite their families with the European aristocracies; and their doctrine of liberty and equality was a shameless hypocrisy.  This followed hard upon her asking, as she did very promptly, why he had scratched out the title on his card.  He told her that he wished to be known solely as an artist, and he had to explain to her that he was not a painter, but was going to be a novelist.  She taxed him with never having been in America, but he contended that as all America came to Europe he had the materials for a study of the national character at hand, without the trouble of crossing the ocean.  In return she told him that she had not been the least sea-sick during the voyage, and that it was no trouble at all; then he abruptly left her and went over to beg a cup of tea from Clementina, who sat behind the kettle by the window.

“I have heard this morning from that American I met in Pompeii” he began.  “He is coming northward, and I am going down to meet him in Rome.”

Mrs. Lander caught the word, and called across the room, “Why, a’n’t that whe’e that lo’d’s gone?”

Clementina said yes, and while the kettle boiled, she asked if Baron Belsky were going soon.

“Oh, in a week or ten days, perhaps.  I shall know when he arrives.  Then I shall go.  We write to each other every day.”  He drew a letter from his breast pocket.  “This will give you the idea of his character,” and he read, “If we believe that the hand of God directs all our actions, how can we set up our theories of conduct against what we feel to be his inspiration?”

“What do you think of that?” he demanded.

“I don’t believe that God directs our wrong actions,” said Clementina.

“How!  Is there anything outside of God?

“I don’t know whether there is or not.  But there is something that tempts me to do wrong, sometimes, and I don’t believe that is God.”

The Russian seemed struck.  “I will write that to him!”

“No,” said Clementina, “I don’t want you to say anything about me to him.”

“No, no!” said Baron Belsky, waving his band reassuringly.  “I would not mention your name!”

Mr. Ewins came in, and the Russian said he must go.  Mrs. Lander tried to detain him, too, as she had tried to keep Mr. Hinkle, but he was inexorable.  Mr. Ewins looked at the door when it had closed upon him.  Mrs. Lander said, “That is one of the gentlemen that Clementina met the otha night at the dance.  He is a baron, but he scratches it out.  You’d ought to head him go on about Americans.”