"You think I'm a fool," he went on, as if I hadn't spoken, "and I am a--a blankety-blank fool. Did you see her night before last in that dress of silver spangles like the wonderful skin of some amazing serpent? Did you see her eyes--her hair--the way her arms looked--as if they could wind themselves round a man's neck and choke him to death while her eyes were fooling him into thinking that such a death was greater happiness than to live?" He rolled this all out, then burst into a queer, crazy laugh. "You see, I'm a lunatic!" he said. "Yes, I see it," I replied cheerfully. "But why do you rave to me?" "Because I--we--have got to tell somebody, and you're the only person in Washington that I know that's both sensible and experienced, wise enough to understand, beautiful enough to sympathize, and young enough to encourage." That was rather good for a man who had had less than a month's real experience with women, wasn't it? I recognized Nadeshda's handiwork, and admired. "Miss Talltowers," he went on, "I am going to make a fool of myself, and she's going to help me." "In what particular sort of folly are you about to embark?" said I. "We're going to marry," he replied. "We've _got_ to marry. I'm afraid of her and she's afraid of me, and we'll either have Heaven or the other place when we do marry--perhaps big doses of each alternately. But we've got to do it." "You know it's impossible," said I. "Under the laws of her country she mayn't marry without the consent of her parents. And they'd never consent." "Certainly they won't," said he, "unless you can suggest some way of getting the ambassador and his wife round. We want to give her people a chance." This with perfect coolness. I began to believe that there must be something in it. "Does Nadeshda know you aren't rich?" I asked. "She knows I have practically nothing. In fact I told her I had less than I have." "And you're sure she wishes to marry you?" "Ask her." He was quiet a while, then raved about her for ten minutes, begged me to do my best thinking, and left me. I felt dazed. I simply couldn't believe it. And the longer I thought, the more certain I was that she was making some sort of grand play in coquetry, which seemed ridiculous enough when I considered what small game Mr. Gunton is from the standpoint of a woman like Nadeshda. In the afternoon I was in a flower store in Pennsylvania Avenue, and Nadeshda joined me. Her surface was, if anything, cooler and subtler and more cynical than usual. "Send away your cab," said she, "and let me take you in my auto--wherever you wish." As I was full of curiosity, I accepted instantly. When we were under way she gave me a strange smile--a slow parting of the lips, a slow half-closing and elongation of those Eastern eyes which she inherits from a Russian grandmother, I believe. "Well, Gus," she said, "has that wild man told you?"