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 a note respectfully, and then went on his way without a word.

How agreeable it must be to have well-trained servants to do one’s bidding like that! she thought, and then went back eagerly to her window to read the missive.  It had no beginning or date, and was just a few lines.

I have observed the whole situation, and judged of the character of your fiance.  I know how you feel.  Do not be depressed—­remain calm and trust me, circumstances can always be directed in the hands of a strong man.  I will have the honor to be presented to you and to your family soon after you arrive at the Embassy to-night.  All is well.

There was no signature, and the writing was rather large and unlike any she had seen before.

Suddenly her feeling of unrest left her, and a lightness of heart took its place.  She was living, at all events, and the horizon was not all gray.  It seemed almost delightful to be putting on a real evening dress presently, even though it was a rather homely white thing with a pink sash, and to be going down to the restaurant in it with Aunt Caroline in front in her best black velvet and point lace.

That lady’s desire to be in time at the party alone determined her to this breach of the rules—­and there were Eustace and Uncle Erasmus in their stiff clerical evening coats awaiting them in the corridor—­while, as luck would have it, the lift stopped at the second floor to admit the Russian.  He got in with his usual air of being unaware that he was not alone—­though Stella could feel that he was touching her hand—­perhaps unconsciously.  He seemed to radiate some kind of joy for her always, and the pink grew to that of a June rose in her cheeks, and her brown eyes shone like two stars.