like? He is very handsome, naturally! Or she would not so dote on him!"

Mr. Heatherbloom's features had hardened; he did not answer directly.
"She likes to talk about Russia?" he said, half to himself.

Marie shrugged. "Is it not to be her country some day?"

"No, it isn't!" The words seemed forced from his lips; he spoke almost
fiercely. "She may live there with him, but it will never be her
country. This is her country. She is its product; an American to her
finger-tips. And all the grand dukes and princes of the Winter Palace
can't change her. She belongs to old California; she grew up among the
orange trees and the flowers, and her heart will ever yearn for them in
your frozen land of tyranny!"

"Oh! oh! oh!" said Mademoiselle Marie. "How eloquent monsieur can be!
Quite an orator! One would say he, too, has known this land of orange
trees and flowers!"

"I?" Mr. Heatherbloom bit his lip.

But she only shook a finger. "Oh! oh!" Altogether like a different
person from his casual acquaintance of the park! He gazed at her
closer; how quickly the marks of trouble, anxiety, had faded from her
face; as if they had never existed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking into eyes now full of a new and
peculiar understanding.

"Nothing," she said and vanished.