which he called by any other name, fought hard with his insulted spirit, though to give in would be too ignominious; she must say she was sorry first, and then he could find it in his heart to forgive her.  But the opportunity to show this magnanimity was not vouchsafed to him by fate—­for other people were introduced to the party by Mr. Deanwood, and he did not exchange a word alone with his erring fiancee until she said a cold good-night in the hall of the Grand Hotel.

“Stella, remain for a moment, I wish to speak to you,” he said in the voice in which he was accustomed to read the burial service.

But she feigned not to hear and followed her Aunt Caroline’s black velvet train on to the lift and at that same moment a discreet-looking foreign servant came up and handed him a note.

He read it in surprise—­who could be sending him a note at a quarter past twelve at night?

Dear Sir [it ran],

I shall be greatly obliged if you can spare to me half an hour before retiring to your rest to converse upon a matter of importance.  I had the honor of making your acquaintance to-night at your Embassy.  If you will grant me this favor I will wait upon you immediately in the hall, or, if you prefer, my sitting-room; my servant could conduct you here, and we shall have the advantage of being entirely undisturbed.  I remain, sir, Yours truly.

Sasha Roumovski.

Eustace Medlicott gasped with astonishment.  This Russian gentleman was evidently in need of his ministrations and perhaps advice.  He would go to his room, certainly, there were still some people in the hall having late coffee and refreshment after the theater.

He indicated by a condescending movement that he was ready to follow the waiting servant, and soon found himself being shown into Count Roumovski’s sitting-room.  It was luxuriously appointed and represented every appearance of manly comfort.  There were quantities of books and papers about and the smell of excellent cigars, and put carelessly aside were various objets d’art which antique dealers had evidently sent for his grand seigneur’s approval.

Count Roumovski was standing by the mantelpiece and looked very tall and commanding in his evening dress.

“It is most good of you to come,” he said, while he indicated a big arm-chair for his visitor to sit in—­he did not offer to shake hands.  “It was certainly my duty to have called upon you, my only apology for getting you to ascend here is that the subject I wish to converse with you is too serious for both of us to admit of interruptions.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Medlicott, pompously—­growing more surprised each moment.  “And may I ask the nature of your trouble?”

Count Roumovski did not change his position by the mantelpiece and he kept still as a bronze statue as he spoke in a courteous tone: 

“It is not a trouble at all,” he began, gravely, “on the contrary, it is a great joy and honor for me.  I will state the facts immediately.  I understand that for a short while you have been engaged to be married to Miss Stella Rawson, the niece of the respected English clergyman, the Reverend Ebley—­”