"I'm feeding her Shaw lately in broken doses. She's prepared for almost anything--You don't really mind my trailing you about this way, do you, Joan?" she asked, sobering. "I love hearing you two talk. Am I in the way, if I just keep quiet as a mouse?" "Mind? Of course not!" Joan kissed her. "You and Stefan are my two dearest friends, and I _love_ to have you friends with each other. Besides, he says you have an 'interesting mind,' my dear. Welcome to our city!" So Emily continued to make a courageous third in their walks and talks and studies; accepted by Nikolai with his usual courteous friendliness, and by the gossips with feelings which were not unmixed. "It's the husband's doings--he's awake at last!" declared one faction. "Men are so fickle. He's had a good deal of her--and Emily Carmichael is looking particularly well this year. Poor Joan!" murmured the other faction, composed of her more intimate acquaintances. Joan's feelings on the matter were also not unmixed. She loved Emily; her presence was always a pleasure; she had assuredly nothing to discuss with Nikolai that could not be discussed before so devoted an audience. And yet-- Stefan came to take the other girl's company so much for granted that one evening, when Joan suggested a row up the river for their next day's outing, it was natural enough for him to say, "That sounds charming! and I think Miss Carmichael will enjoy it, too." This innocent remark produced surprising results; as surprising to Joan as to himself. She jumped to her feet. "Look here, Stefan! If you want Emily so much, why don't you take her by yourself?" she cried, and bursting into tears she fled from the room. Nikolai stared blankly at Archie. "Will you tell me _what_ I have said?" For once the other was the first to understand. "Don't you see?" he replied with his patient smile (and there is nothing sadder to see in life than patience on the face of a young man). "It's come about just as I thought it would, Mr. Nikolai. She's--she's jealous of you. That's all." * * * * * That night Stefan Nikolai, usually very regular in habit, sat so late by his open window that the servant Sacha emerged at intervals to investigate. "Is Excellency ill, that he neither sleeps nor reads?" "Not ill, Sacha. Go to bed." There was a lilac-tree blooming below the window, and the scent of the young summer came in to him, flooding his heart, his senses-- The servant appeared again. "Has Excellency sadness?" "Not sadness, Sacha. I think--it is happiness." "And yet he sighs?" Nikolai stirred, and got to his feet. "That is because our wandering begins again. The book is done. In a few days we go." The servant took an eager step toward him. "Not alone?" Nikolai started. He had forgotten, as so many forget, the watching eyes of those who serve us. "Certainly, alone!" he said sharply. "Am I not always alone?"