"Which crushes the poor and the weak."
"What matter, since you, Constantine Demetrius, are neither poor nor weak?"
"My sympathy----"
"A most dangerous word, current only in that Utopia you dreamed of. It is not in the Russian dictionary."
Demetrius turned on the scoffer a glittering eye. "It will be, some day," said he, slowly.
"My friend"--Aksakoff shook the ash from his cigarette--"if you propose to edit dictionaries you must remain Dr. Demetrius--in exile."
"I gladly would," rejoined the other, heartily; "only----" His voice died away, as he looked towards Lady Jim.
The diplomatist laughed. "There is always a woman. Ah, these dear ladies, how practical they are! In their hands we are wax, which they mould after the honey is squeezed out;" he laughed again, then resumed, business-like: "You will write to my daughter and place the truth of this engagement beyond question."
"To-morrow, Ivan Aksakoff, when I am in London. And needless to say, I shall always profoundly respect Mademoiselle your daughter."
"You mean the Countess Petrovitch."