"I am not quite so sure as I was this morning," he confessed, holding out his cup for some more tea. "I met a perfectly adorable girl to-day at luncheon at the Ritz. Such eyes, Maggie, and the slimmest, most wonderful figure you ever saw!"
"Who was the cat?" Maggie enquired with asperity.
"She is Russian. Her name is Naida Karetsky. Karschoff introduced me."
Maggie was suddenly serious. There was just a trace of the one expression he had never before seen in her face—fear—lurking in her eyes, even asserting itself in her tone.
"Naida Karetsky?" she repeated. "Tell me exactly how you met her?"
"She was lunching with her father and Oscar Immelan. She stopped to speak to Karschoff and asked him to present me. Afterwards, she invited us to take coffee in the lounge."
"She went out of her way to make your acquaintance, then?"
"Yes, I suppose she did."
"You know who she is?"
"The daughter of one of the Russian Consuls over here, I understood."