“It isn’t merely an art gallery; it’s the most beautiful room in America,” murmured Mrs. Sanderson.

“I can well believe it.  There’s my favorite Vibert,—­I wondered what had become of it.”

“It isn’t surprising that the Secretary is making a great reputation by his dealings with foreign powers.  It’s a poor ambassador who could not be persuaded after an hour in this splendid room.  The ordinary affairs of life should not be mentioned here.  A king’s coronation would not be out of place,—­in fact, there’s a chair in the corner against that Gobelin that would serve the situation.  The old gentleman by that cabinet is the Baron von Marhof, the Ambassador from Austria-Hungary.  He’s a brother-in-law of Count von Stroebel, who was murdered so horribly in a railway carriage a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, to be sure!  I haven’t seen the Baron in years.  He has changed little.”

“Then you knew him,—­in the old country?”

“Yes; I used to see him—­when I was a boy,” remarked Armitage.

Mrs. Sanderson glanced at Armitage sharply.  She had dined at his ranch house in Montana and knew that he lived like a gentleman,—­that his house, its appointments and service were unusual for a western ranchman.  And she recalled, too, that she and her husband had often speculated as to Armitage’s antecedents and history, without arriving at any conclusion in regard to him.

The room had slowly filled and they strolled about, dividing attention between distinguished personages and the not less celebrated works of art.

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Armitage, there’s the girl I have chosen for you to marry.  I suppose it would be just as well for you to meet her now, though that dark little foreigner seems to be monopolizing her.”

“I am wholly agreeable,” laughed Armitage.  “The sooner the better, and be done with it.”

“Don’t be so frivolous.  There—­you can look safely now.  She’s stopped to speak to that bald and pink Justice of the Supreme Court,—­the girl with the brown eyes and hair,—­have a care!”

Shirley and Chauvenet left the venerable Justice, and Mrs. Sanderson intercepted them at once.

“To think of all these beautiful things in our own America!” exclaimed Shirley.  “And you, Mr. Armitage,—­”

“Among the other curios, Miss Claiborne,” laughed John, taking her hand.

“But I haven’t introduced you yet”—­began Mrs. Sanderson, puzzled.

“No; the King Edward did that.  We crossed together.  Oh, Monsieur Chauvenet, let me present Mr. Armitage,” said Shirley, seeing that the men had not spoken.

The situation amused Armitage and he smiled rather more broadly than was necessary in expressing his pleasure at meeting Monsieur Chauvenet.  They regarded each other with the swift intentness of men who are used to the sharp exercise of their eyes; and when Armitage turned toward Shirley and Mrs. Sanderson, he was aware that Chauvenet continued to regard him with fixed gaze.