But after all, who shall say what is trivial in this world and what is not? Let it rest with the assertion that in any other sphere, business, sociology, charity, Belle Wellington's genius would have carried her as far as in that domain wherein she had set her endeavors. As to charity, for that matter, she had given a mountain recluse, a physician, five hundred thousand dollars with which to found a tuberculosis sanitarium, and—but those were things which not even her friends knew and concerning which, therefore, we should remain silent.
Slowly she leaned forward and pressed a button. Mrs. Stetson, the housekeeper, soon appeared.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Stetson," she said. "Prince Koltsoff seems to have anticipated us." She suddenly remembered she had utilized her daughter's expression, and bit her lips. "When did he arrive?"
"He came last night in the French ambassador's carriage."
"Last night!" Mrs. Wellington glanced at her secretary. "Will you bring my engagement book, please." This in hand, she turned the pages hastily, then put it down.
"There has been some mistake. He was not to come to us until luncheon to-day. Was M. Renaud with him?"
"Yes, Mrs. Wellington, but he did not stay. The Prince seemed to know he was not expected. He apologized profusely, but said that events had brought him here a day early and trusted there was no inconvenience. He did not dine, but spent the evening in the smoking-room, writing. He sent two cable despatches by Parker."
"Um-m, dégagé, even for a Russian," said Mrs. Wellington. "And he arose early?"
"Very early. He asked Mr. Dawson for a car to go to the village at half after six."
Mrs. Wellington almost revealed her intense interest.