"I have kept you waiting," she said, in a tone that dispensed with
formalities, "because I was on the point of going out when they
brought your card----"
"Oh, I am sorry----"
"But I am not. Instead of twaddle and boredom round somebody or
other's samovar, I am going to have honest talk under the
chaperonage of an English teapott--my own teapot, which I carry
everywhere. But don't be afraid; I shall not give you English tea.
What a shame that I have been here for two months without our
meeting! I have talked about you--wanted to know you. Look!"
She pointed to the periodicals which Piers had already noticed.
"No," she went on, checking him as he was about to sit down, "_that_
is your chair. If you sat on the other, you would be polite and
grave and--like everybody else; I know the influence of chairs.
That is the chair my husband selects when he wishes to make me
understand some point of etiquette. Miss Derwent warned you, no
doubt, of my shortcomings in etiquette?"
"All she said to me," replied Piers, laughing, "was that you are
very much her friend."
"Well, that is true, I hope. Tell me, please; is the article in the
_Vyestnik_ your own Russian?"
"Not entirely. I have a friend named Korolevitch, who went through
it for me."
"Korolevitch? I seem to know that name. Is he, by chance, connected
with some religious movement, some heresy?"
"I was going to say I am sorry he is; yet I can't be sorry for what
honours the man.
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