Stella sat silent; she was overcome with the whole situation; and
her fiance grew more distasteful to her every moment--how had she
ever been persuaded to be engaged to such a person!--while the
attraction of the strange-looking Russian seemed to increase. In
spite of the grotesque hair and unusual beard, there was an air of
great distinction about him. His complete unconsciousness and calm
were so remarkable. You might take him for an eccentric person,
but certainly a gentleman, and with an extraordinary magnetism,
she felt. When once you had talked to him, he seemed to cast a
spell over you. But, beyond this, she only knew that she was
growing more unhappy every moment, and that by her side one man
represented everything that was tied and bound in sentiment and
feeling and existence, and that across the hall another opened the
windows of her reason and imagination, and exhorted her to be
free, and herself.

Presently she could bear it no more. She got up rather suddenly,
and, saying she was very tired and had letters to write, she left
them and went toward the lift.

"Stella is not at all like herself," Mr. Medlicott said, when she
had disappeared from view. "I trust she is not sickening with
Roman fever."

Meanwhile, Miss Rawson had reached her room and pulled her writing
case in front of her. There were one or two girl friends who ought
to be written to, but the sheets remained blank--and in about ten
minutes there was a gentle knock at the door, and, on opening it,
she saw Count Roumovski's discreet-looking servant, who handed her