of your country. You are a dull people. I weary myself here."

The girl whom she had addressed as Louise shrugged her shoulders.

"So do I, so do all of us," she answered, a little wearily. "What would
you have? One must live somewhere."

The Baroness sighed, and from a chatelaine hung with elegant trifles
selected a gold cigarette case. An attentive waiter rushed for a match
and presented it. The Baroness gave a little sigh of content as she
leaned back in her chair. She smoked as one to the manner born.

"One must live somewhere, it is true," she agreed, "but why London? I
think that of all great cities it is the most provincial. It lacks what
you call the atmosphere. The people are all so polite, and so deadly,
deadly dull. How different in Paris or Berlin, even Brussels!"

"Circumstances are a little against us, aren't they?" Louise remarked.
"Our opportunities for making acquaintances are limited."

The Baroness made a little grimace.

"You, my young friend," she said, "are of the English--very English.
Quite Saxon, in fact. With you there would never be any making of
acquaintances! I feel myself in the bonds of a cast-iron chaperonage
whenever I move out with you. Why is it, little one? Have you never any
desire to amuse yourself?"

"I don't quite understand you," her companion answered dryly. "If you
mean that I have no desire to encourage promiscuous acquaintances, you