the self-accusation to her astonished maid, because it was a sort of relief to say the words to somebody. She had written that she did not really care for him in that way; that when he was near she could not resist a sort of natural attraction he had for her, but that as soon as he was gone she felt it no longer and she wished he would not come back; that his presence disturbed her and made her uncomfortable, and, moreover, interfered with her art; but that she had not the courage to tell him so, and wished that some one else would do it for her; that he was not really the sort of man she could ever be happy with; that her ideal of a husband was so and so, and this and that—and here fiction had begun, and she had put a stop to it by destroying the whole letter instead of crossing out a few lines,—which was a pity; for if Lady Maud had received it, she would have told Mr. Van Torp that he needed no help from her since Margaret herself asked no better than to be freed from the engagement.
Logotheti did not come out to Versailles that afternoon, because he was plentifully endowed with tact where women were concerned, and he applied all the knowledge and skill he had to the single purpose of pleasing Margaret. But before dinner he telephoned and asked to speak with her, and this she could not possibly refuse. Besides, the day had seemed long, and though she did not wish for his presence she wanted something—that indescribable, mysterious something which disturbed her and made her feel uncomfortable when she felt it, but which she missed when she did not see him for a day or two.
'How are you?' asked his voice, and he ran on without waiting for an answer. 'I hope you are not very tired after crossing yesterday. I came by Boulogne—decent of me, wasn't it? You must be sick of seeing me all the time, so I shall give you a rest for a day or two. Telephone whenever you think you can bear the sight of me again, and I'll be with you in thirty-five minutes. I shall not stir from home in this baking weather. If you think I'm in mischief you're quite mistaken, dear lady, for I'm up to my chin in work!'
'I envy you,' Margaret said, when he paused at last. 'I've nothing on earth to do, and the piano here is out of tune. But you're quite right, I don't want to see you a little bit, and I'm not jealous, nor suspicious, nor anything disagreeable. So there!'
'How nice of you!'
'I'm very nice,' Margaret answered with laughing emphasis. 'I know it. What sort of work are you doing? It's only idle curiosity, so don't tell me if you would rather not! Have you got a new railway in Brazil, or an overland route to the other side of beyond?'
'Nothing so easy! I'm brushing up my Tartar.'
'Brushing up what? I didn't hear.'
'Tartar—the Tartar language—T-a-r—'he began to spell the word.
'Yes, I hear now,' interrupted Margaret. 'But what in the world is the use of knowing it? You must be awfully hard up for something to do!'
'You can be understood from Constantinople to the Pacific Ocean if you can speak Tartar,' Logotheti answered in a matter-of-fact tone.
'I daresay! But you're not going to travel from Constantinople to the Pacific Ocean——'
'I might. One never can tell what one may like to do.'
'Oh, if it's because Tartar is useful "against the bites of sharks,"' answered Margaret, quoting Alice, 'learn it by all means!'
'Besides, there are all sorts of people in Paris. I'm sure there must be some Tartars. I might meet one, and it would be amusing to be able to talk to him.'
'Nonsense! Why should you ever meet a Tartar? How absurd you are!'
'There's one with me now—close beside me, at my elbow.'
'Don't be silly, or I'll ring off.'
'If you don't believe me, listen!'
He said something in a language Margaret did not understand, and another voice answered him at once in the same tongue. Margaret started slightly and bent her brows with a puzzled and displeased look.
'Is that your teacher?' she asked with more interest in her tone than she had yet betrayed.
'Yes.'
'I begin to understand. Do you mind telling me how old she is?'
'It's not "she," it's a young man. I don't know how old he is. I'll ask him if you like.'
Again she heard him speak a few incomprehensible words, which were answered very briefly in the same tongue.
'He tells me he is twenty,' Logotheti said. 'He's a good-looking young fellow. How is Mrs. Rushmore? I forgot to ask.'
'She's quite well, thank you. But I should like to know——'
'Will you be so very kind as to remember me to her, and to say that I hope to find her at home the day after to-morrow?'
'Certainly. Come to-morrow if you like. But please tell me how you happened to pick up that young Tartar. It sounds so interesting! He has such a sweet voice.'
There was no reply to this question, and Margaret could not get another word from Logotheti. The communication was apparently cut off. She rang up the Central Office and asked for his number again, but the young woman soon said that she could get no answer to the call, and that something was probably wrong with the instrument of Number One-hundred-and-six-thirty-seven.
Margaret was not pleased, and she was silent and absent-minded at dinner and in the evening.
'It's the reaction after London,' she said with a smile, when Mrs. Rushmore asked if anything was the matter. 'I find I am more tired than I knew, now that it's all over.'
Mrs. Rushmore was quite of the same opinion, and it was still early when she declared that she herself was sleepy and that Margaret had much better go to bed and get a good night's rest.
But when the Primadonna was sitting before the glass and her maid was brushing out her soft brown hair, she was not at all drowsy, and though her eyes looked steadily at their own reflection in the mirror, she was not aware that she saw anything.
'Potts,' she said suddenly, and stopped.
'Yes, ma'am?' answered the maid with meek interrogation, and without checking the regular movement of the big brush.
But Margaret said no more for several moments. She enjoyed the sensation of having her hair brushed; it made her understand exactly how a cat feels when some one strokes its back steadily, and she could almost have purred with pleasure as she held her handsome head back and moved it a little in real enjoyment under each soft stroke.
'Potts,' she began again at last, 'you are not very imaginative, are you?'
'No, ma'am,' the maid answered, because it seemed to be expected of her, though she had never thought of the matter.
'Do you think you could possibly be mistaken about a voice, if you didn't see the person who was speaking?'
'In what way, ma'am?'
'I mean, do you think you could take a man's voice for a woman's at a distance?'
'Oh, I see!' Potts exclaimed. 'As it might be, at the telephone?'
'Well—at the telephone, if you like, or
