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 This manner of playing with words, this hiding a secret, had a great charm for Anna, as it has for all women. And it was not the necessity of secrecy, or the reason for secrecy, but the process itself, that gave the pleasure.

"I cannot be more Catholic than the Pope," she said. "Stremof and Liza Merkalof, they are the cream of the cream of society. They are received everywhere. But I"—she laid special stress on the I—"I have never been severe and intolerant. I simply have not had time."

"No. But perhaps you prefer not to meet Stremof? Let him break lances with Alekseï Aleksandrovitch in committee-meetings; that does not concern us. But in society he is as lovely a man as I know, and a passionate lover of croquet. But you shall see him. And you must see how admirably he conducts himself in his ridiculous position as Liza's aged lover. He is very charming. Don't you know Safo Stoltz? She is the latest, absolutely the latest style."

While Betsy was saying all this, Anna perceived, by her joyous, intelligent eyes, that she saw her embarrassment and was trying to put her at her ease. They had gone into the little boudoir.

"By the way, I must write a word to Alekseï."

And Betsy sat down at her writing-table, hastily penned a few lines, and inclosed them in an envelop. "I wrote him to come to dinner. One of the ladies who is going to be here has no gentleman. See if I am imperative enough. Excuse me if I leave you a moment. Please seal it and direct it," said she at the door, "I have some arrangements to make."

Without a moment's hesitation, Anna took Betsy's seat at the table, and, without reading her note, added these words:—

She sealed the letter; and Betsy, coming a moment later, despatched it at once.