representative wags a huge, blond beard; and yonder is the phlegmatic
German ambassador. Scattered around the table, brilliant splotches of
color, are the uniformed envoys of the Orient--the smaller the country
the more brilliant the splotch. It is a state dinner, to be followed by
a state ball, and they are all present.

The Italian ambassador, Count di Rosini, was trying to interpret a
French _bon mot_ into English for the benefit of the dainty, doll-like
wife of the Chinese minister--who was educated at Radcliffe--when a
servant leaned over him and laid a sealed envelope beside his plate. The
count glanced around at the servant, excused himself to Mrs. Quong Li
Wi, and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of embassy note
paper, and a terse line signed by his secretary:

"A lady is waiting for you here. She says she must see you immediately,
on a matter of the greatest importance."

The count read the note twice, with wrinkled brow, then scribbled on it
in pencil:

"Impossible to-night. Tell her to call at the embassy to-morrow morning
at half-past ten o'clock."

He folded the note, handed it to the servant, and resumed his
conversation with Mrs. Wi.

Half an hour later the same servant placed a second sealed envelope
beside his plate. Recognizing the superscription, the ambassador
impatiently shoved it aside, intending to disregard it. But irritated
curiosity finally triumphed, and he opened it. A white card on which was