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Updated: May 18, 2025
Miss Julia P. Mangles bowed in a manner which she considered impressive and the world thought ponderous. Netty Cahere murmured a few timid words of thanks. "We shall hope to see you again," said Lady Orlay to Mr. Mangles. "'Fraid not," he answered; "we're going to travel on the Continent." "When do you start?" asked her ladyship. "To-morrow morning."
"Another one," muttered Lady Orlay, watching Mr. Mangles depart. And her brief reverie was broken into by Reginald Cartoner. "You have come to say good-bye," she said to him. "Yes." "You are going away again?" "Yes." "And you will not tell me where you are going." "I cannot," answered Cartoner.
"Then I will tell you," said Lady Orlay, who, as Paul Deulin had said, was very experienced and very discerning. "You are going to Russia, all of you." Daylight was beginning to contend with the brilliant electric illumination of the long platform as that which is called the Warsaw Express steamed into Alexandrowo Station.
This also was a Frenchman, who seemed to have something special to report, for they walked aside together. It was quite late in the evening before Deulin succeeded in his efforts to get a few moments' speech with Lady Orlay. He found that unmatched hostess at leisure in the brief space elapsing between the arrival of the latest and the departure of the earliest.
Thus they spoke of the great lecturer on Prison Wrongs. "You have seen the Bukatys?" inquired Lady Orlay. "I called on them the moment I received your note from Paris. They are here to-night. I have never seen such a complexion. Is it characteristic of Poland?" "I think so," replied Deulin, with unusual shortness, looking away across the room.
Lady Orlay looked at her fan reflectively as she opened and closed it. "Reginald Cartoner has turned up quite suddenly," she said. "Mr. Mangles has arrived from Washington. You are here from Paris. A few minutes ago old Karl Steinmetz, who still watches the nations en amateur, shook hands with me. This Prince Bukaty is not a nonentity. All the Vultures are assembling, Paul. I can see that.
Her husband would be old enough to be her father, but he was a millionaire twice over in London and New York. He had, moreover, a house in each of those great cities, of which details appeared from time to time in the illustrated monthly magazines. "So I shall hope to be in London every year," said Netty, "and to see all the friends who have been so kind to us you and Lord Orlay and Mr. Deulin."
"I have, and I shall carry it lightly to heaven if I get there." "It has a smell of violets," said Lady Orlay, looking down into the fire. "They are violets from Warsaw," admitted Deulin. "Wanda is in?" he asked, gravely. "Yes; they are in the study. I will send for her." "I have received a letter from her father," said Deulin, with his hand on the bell.
"And what do you want Lady Orlay to do for Princess Wanda?" inquired Cartoner, with a smile. It was always a marvel to him that Paul Deulin should have travelled so far down the road of life without losing his enthusiasm somewhere by the way. "That I leave to Lady Orlay," replied Deulin, with an airy wave of his neat umbrella, which imperilled the eyesight of a passing baker-boy, who abused him.
But, my friend, if anything should happen anything anywhere we keep each other advised. Is it not so?" "Usual cipher," answered Cartoner. "My salutations to Lady Orlay," said Deulin, with a reflective nod. "That woman who can keep a secret." "I thought you had none." "She knows the secret of my income," answered the Frenchman. "Tell her no! Do not tell her anything. But go and see her.
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