friendly terms. They are inconceivably stupid; as boring as--the
multiplication-table. I am going to Warsaw; are you? I fancy we have the
sleeping-car to ourselves. I live in Warsaw as much as anywhere."

He paused to feel in his pocket, not for his cigarettes this time, but
for a card.

"I know who you are," said Cartoner, quietly: "I recognized you from
your likeness to your sister. I was dancing with her forty-eight hours
ago in London."

"Wanda?" inquired the other, eagerly. "Dear old Wanda! How is she? She
was the prettiest girl in the room, I bet."

He leaned across the table.

"Tell me," he said, "all about them. But, first, tell me your name.
Wanda writes to me nearly every day, and I hear about all their
friends--the Orlays and the others. What is your name? She is sure to
have made mention of it in her letters."

"Reginald Cartoner."

"Ah! I have heard of you--but not from Wanda."

He paused to reflect.

"No," he added, rather wonderingly, after a pause. "No, she never
mentioned your name. But, of course, I know it. It is better known
out of England than in your own country, I fancy. Deulin--you know