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 BY ORDER OF THE CZAR. 109 "Yes, I think so," said Philip, his manner somewhat constrained as compared with his frank conversation with Dick Chetwynd.

"One of Forsyth's dreams," said Chetwynd, at the same time greeting Dolly's sister, Mrs. Milbanke.

"What a queer dream," went on Dolly, " but Mr. Forsyth has ugly dreams."

"Not always," said Dick, smiling in his bland, calm way. "You are looking charming this morning."

"Oh, I am not one of Mr. Forsyth's dreams; I am a very sober reality. Am I not, Mr. Philip Forsyth ? "

Here she turned her merry eyes upon Philip, and was the very antithesis of the woman in the picture. Dolly was beaming with good health, a pretty blonde, with a dainty figure; very modern, an artist would say, and so she was in dress, style and manner; a tennis player, a flirt, and yet at heart a good-natured pleasant London girl. And she was London, every inch of her, with all the London chic and audacity; fearless in her pleasant ignorance of art and all its branches, except the art of dress and the art of small talk; she would talk on anything, art or what not — the musical glasses or the music of the spheres; she laughed at her own ignorance when it became too apparent, but she could waltz divinely, sing snatches of all the modern operas, comic and otherwise, play bits of Wagner, Chopin, Mendelssohn, Sullivan; never finished anything, however, and was altogether a pretty, dainty, amusing, light-hearted London girl. And her sister, Jenny, was a great deal like her, only a little more staid in manner and conversation, she being married and Dolly only on the eve of being engaged. They were of medium height, both of them, the one a little prettier than the other, both merry, both touched with the Society mania of knowing the "smartest people, don't you know?" both flirts, both genial, pleasant and good women. Once in a way some