"It can be nothing to the pleasure of meeting a charming countrywoman,"
replied Mr. Barker, and he glided from the room.

The dark lady stood for a moment looking at the door through which her
visitor had departed. It was almost nine o'clock by this time, and she
rang for lights, subsiding into a low chair while the servant brought
them. The candles flickered in the light breeze that fanned fitfully
through the room, and, finding it difficult to read, the Countess sent
for Miss Skeat.

"What a tiny little world it is!" said Margaret, by way of opening the
conversation.

Miss Skeat sat down by the table. She was thin and yellow, and her bones
were on the outside. She wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and was well
dressed, in plain black, with a single white ruffle about her long and
sinewy neck. She was hideous, but she had a certain touch of dignified
elegance, and her face looked trustworthy and not unkind.

"Apropos of anything especial?" asked she, seeing that the Countess
expected her to say something.

"Do you remember when I dropped my parasol at Heidelberg?"

"Perfectly," replied Miss Skeat.

"And the man who picked it up, and who looked like Niemann in
_Lohengrin_?"