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220 yellow eyes, and a parting along his back. Klaus Heinrich began a conversation for conversation's sake, a formal dialogue about nothing in particular, which was all he could do.

"I hope, Countess, that I have not come at an incon venient time. Luckily I need not feel myself an unauthorized intruder. I do not know whether Miss Spoelmann has told you.&hellip; She was so kind as to suggest my calling. It was about those lovely pieces of glass which Mr. Spoelmann so generously gave to yesterday's bazaar. Miss Spoelmann thought that her father would have no objection to letting me see the rest of his collection. That's why I'm here &hellip;"

The Countess ignored the question whether Imma had told her of the arrangement. She said: "This is tea-time, Royal Highness. Of course your visit is not inconvenient. Even if, as I hope will not be the case, Mr. Spoelmann were too unwell to appear.&hellip;"

"Oh, is he ill?" In reality Klaus Heinrich wished just a little that Mr. Spoelmann might be too unwell. He anticipated his meeting with him with vague anxiety.

"He was feeling ill to-day, Royal Highness. He had a touch of fever, shivering, and a little faintness. Dr. Watercloose was with him for a long time this morning. He was given an injection of morphia. There's some question of an operation being necessary."

"I am very sorry," said Klaus Heinrich quite honestly. "An operation? How dreadful!"

To which the Countess answered, letting her eyes wander: "Oh yes. But there are worse things in life—many much worse things than that."

"Undoubtedly," said Klaus Heinrich. "I can quite believe it." He felt his imagination stirred in a vague and general way by the Countess's allusion.

She looked at him with her head inclined to one side, and