thoughtfully, as she served him with a generous cup, laced with rum,
"but the American he is the bes' to play _wiz_." Mellin found her
irresistible when she said "wiz."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, the Russian play high, yes--but the American"--she laughed
delightedly and stretched her arms wide--"he make' it all a joke! He is
beeg like his beeg country. If he win or lose, he don' care! Ah, I mus'
tell you of my great American frien', that Honor-able Chanlair Pedlow,
who is comin' to Rome. You have heard of Honor-able Chanlair Pedlow in
America?"

"I remember hearing that name."

"Ah, I shall make you know him. He is a man of distinction; he did sit
in your Chamber of Deputies--what you call it?--yes, your Con-gress. He
is funny, eccentric--always he roar like a lion--Boum!--but so simple,
so good, a man of such fine heart--so lovable!"

"I'll be glad to meet him," said Mellin coldly.

"An', oh, yes, I almos' forget to tell you," she went on, "your frien',
that dear Cooley, he is on his way from Monte Carlo in his automobile. I
have a note from him to-day."

"Good sort of fellow, little Cooley, in his way," remarked her companion
graciously. "Not especially intellectual or that, you know. His father
was a manufacturer chap, I believe, or something of the sort. I suppose
you saw a lot of him in Paris?"