so; and there was none, from first to last, but smiled with pleasure at
even the mention of her name, so had her vivacity, intelligence, and fine
sympathy conquered them. She was a social artist by instinct. In their
hearts they all recognised how fair and impartial she was; and she drew
out of every man the best that was in him. The few women who did not
like her said that she chattered; but the truth was she made other people
talk by swift suggestion or delicate interrogation.

After the blow fell, Freddy Hartzman put the matter succinctly, and told
the truth faithfully, when he said, "The first time I met her, I told her
all I'd ever done that could be told, and all I wanted to do; including a
resolve to carry her off to some desert place and set up a Kingdom of
Two. I don't know how she did it. I was like a tap, and poured myself
out; and when it was all over, I thought she was the best talker I'd ever
heard. But yet she'd done nothing except look at me and listen, and put
in a question here and there, that was like a baby asking to see your
watch. Oh, she was a lily-flower, was Sally Seabrook, and I've never
been sorry I told her all my little story! It did me good. Poor
darling--it makes me sick sometimes when I think of it. Yet she'll win
out all right--a hundred to one she'll win out. She was a star."

Freddy Hartzman was in an embassy of repute; he knew the chancelleries
and salons of many nations, and was looked upon as one of the ablest and
shrewdest men in the diplomatic service. He had written one of the best
books on international law in existence, he talked English like a native,
he had published a volume of delightful verse, and had omitted to publish
several others, including a tiny volume which Sally Seabrook's charms had
inspired him to write. His view of her was shared by most men who knew
the world, and especially by the elderly men who had a real knowledge of
human nature, among whom was a certain important member of the United