"What! Not marry a Count!" Mrs. Hanway-Harley was shocked as only an
American mother could have been shocked. She appealed to the ceiling
with her horrified hands. "Oh! the callousness of children!" she cried.
Following this outburst of despair, Mrs. Hanway-Harley composed herself.
"We need not consider that now; it will be soon enough when the Count
offers us his hand." Mrs. Hanway-Harley sank back in her chair with
closed eyes and saw a vision of herself at the Court of the Czar. Then
she continued her thoughts aloud. "It's more than likely, my dear, that
the Czar would appoint Count Storri Ambassador to Washington."

"It would be extremely intelligent of the Czar, I'm sure," returned
Dorothy with a twinkle.

The next morning a colored youth clad in the garish livery of an Avenue
florist made his appearance on the Harley premises bearing aloft an
armful of flowers as large as a sheaf of wheat. By the card they were
for "Miss Harley." The morning following, and every morning, came the
colored youth bearing an odorous armful. Who were they from? The card
told nothing; it was the handwriting of the florist.

"Don't you think it might be Count Storri?" said Dorothy demurely,
taking her pretty nose--the nose Richard saved--out of the flowers.
"Those Russians are so extravagant, so eccentric!"

"Suppose I thank him for them," observed Mrs. Hanway-Harley; "that would
bring him out!"

"No, no," exclaimed Dorothy hastily; "it might embarrass the Count."

"Pshaw! I'll ask the florist."