"Oh! I am not the man to be imposed on in that way. Besides, what motive could an English writer have for belying an Emperor of Russia?"
"Sure enough, what motive!" exclaimed John Effingham.--"You have your answer, Ned!"
"But you will remember, Mr. Howel," Eve interposed, "that we have seen the Emperor Nicholas."
"I dare say, Miss Eve, that your gentle nature was disposed to judge him as kindly as possible; and, then, I think most Americans, ever since the treaty of Ghent, have been disposed to view all Russians too favourably. No, no; I am satisfied with the account of the English; they live much nearer to St. Petersburg than we do, and they are more accustomed, too, to give accounts of such matters."
"But living nearer, Tom Howel," cried Mr. Effingham, with unusual animation, "in such a case, is of no avail, unless one lives near enough to see with his own eyes."
"Well--well--my good friend, we will talk of this another time. I know your disposition to look at every body with lenient eyes. I will now wish you all a good morning, and hope soon to see you again. Miss Eve, I have one word to say, if you dare trust yourself with a youth of fifty, for a minute, in the library."
Eve rose cheerfully, and led the way to the room her father's visiter had named. When within it, Mr. Howel shut the door carefully, and then with a sort of eager delight, he exclaimed--
"For heaven's sake, my dear young lady, tell me who are these two strange gentlemen in the other room."
"Precisely the persons my father mentioned, Mr. Howel; Mr. Paul Powis, and Sir George Templemore."
"Englishmen, of course!"