"I'm sure I don't know what he's paid. I should think he'd get rather more than a penny. He's fairly successful. The things he does aren't bad," she said.

   "I must look 'em up," said he. "But meantime, will you tell me how you came to mistake me for him? Has he the Chinese type? Besides, what on earth should a little London literary man be doing at the Countess Wohenhoffen's?"

   "He was standing near the door, over there," she told him, sweetly, "dying for a little human conversation, till I took pity on him. No, he hasn't exactly the Chinese type, but he's wearing a Chinese costume, and I should suppose he'd feel uncommonly hot in that exasperatingly

   placid Chinese head.

    I'm

   nearly suffocated, and I'm only wearing a

    loup

   . For the rest, why

    shouldn't

   he be here?"

   "If your

    loup

   bothers you, pray take it off. Don't mind me," he urged gallantly.

   "You're extremely good," she responded. "But if I should take off my

    loup

   , you'd be sorry. Of course, manlike, you're hoping that I'm young and pretty."

   "Well, and aren't you?"

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