She stuck the carnation into his buttonhole as she spoke, and returned to her seat, where she settled herself with the air of one ready for a serious chat. "It is very odd to see you on this side of the Atlantic, Count," she remarked. "Tell me, what are you doing in this country,--besides taking the town by storm, that is?" "I weell range my own self;--say you een Eengleesh 'arrange my own self'?" "When it means you are going to marry, Count, it might be well to say that you are going to arrange yourself and derange somebody else. Is the lady Miss Endicott?" "Eet ees Mees Endeecott. Ees she not good for me?" "She is a thousand times too good for you, my dear fellow; but she is as poor as a church mouse." "Ah, but her aunt, Mees Wentsteele, she geeve her one _dot_: two thousand hundred dollar. Eet weell be a meellion francs, ees eet not?" "So you get a million francs for yourself, Count. It is more than I should have thought you worth." "But de teettle!" "Oh, the title is worth something, but I could buy one a good deal cheaper. If I remember correctly I might have had yours for nothing, Count." The Count did not look entirely pleased at this reminiscence, but he smiled, and again took refuge in a compliment. "To one so _ravissante_ as madame all teettles are under her feet." "I wish you would set up a school for compliments here in Boston, Count, and teach our men to say nice things. Really, a Boston man's compliments are like molasses candy, they are so home-made. But why don't you take the aunt instead of the niece? Miss Wentstile is worth half a million." "Dat weell be mouche," responded the Count with gravity; "but she have bones." The widow laughed lightly. The woman who after forty can laugh like a girl is one who has preserved her power over men, and she is generally one fully aware of the fact. Mrs. Neligage had no greater charm than her light-hearted laugh, which no care could permanently subdue. She tossed her head, and then shook it at the Count. "Yes," she responded, "you are unfortunately right. She has bones. By the way, do you happen to have with you that letter I gave you at Mrs. Harbinger's yesterday?" "Yes," he answered, drawing from his pocket the note addressed to Christopher Calumus, "I have eet." "I would like to see it," Mrs. Neligage said, extending her hand. The Count smiled, and held it up. "You can see eet," said he, "but eet ees not permeet you weedeen de hand to have eet." She leaned forward and examined it closely, studying the address with keen eyes. "It is no matter," was her remark. "I only wanted to make sure." "Do you de handwrite know?" he demanded eagerly. "And if I do?" "You do know," he broke out in French. "I can see it in your face. Tell me who wrote it." She shook her head, smiling teasingly. Then she rose, and moved toward the window by which she had come from the house.