“And symbolic,” finished Dr. Dean. “Symbolic of very curious meanings, I assure you. But I fear I have interrupted your talk. Mr. Courtney was speaking about somebody’s beautiful eyes; who is the fair one in question?” “The Princess Ziska,” said Lord Fulkeward. “I was saying that I don’t quite like the look of her eyes.” “Why not? Why not?” demanded the doctor with sudden asperity. “What’s the matter with them?” “Everything’s the matter with them!” replied Ross Courtney with a forced laugh. “They are too splendid and wild for Fulke; he likes the English pale-blue better than the Egyptian gazelle-black.” “No, I don’t,” said Lord Fulkeward, speaking more animatedly than was customary with him. “I hate pale-blue eyes. I prefer soft violet-gray ones, like Miss Murray’s.” “Miss Helen Murray is a very charming young lady,” said Dr. Dean. “But her beauty is quite of an ordinary type, while that of the Princess Ziska----” “Is _extra_-ordinary--exactly! That’s just what I say!” declared Courtney. “I think she is the loveliest woman I have ever seen.” There was a pause, during which the little doctor looked with a ferret-like curiosity from one man to the other. Sir Chetwynd Lyle rose ponderously up from the depths of his arm-chair. “I think,” said he, “I had better go and get into my uniform--the Windsor, you know! I always have it with me wherever I go; it comes in very useful for fancy balls such as the one we are going to have to-night, when no particular period is observed in costume. Isn’t it about time we all got ready?” “Upon my life, I think it is!” agreed Lord Fulkeward. “I am coming out as a Neapolitan fisherman! I don’t believe Neapolitan fishermen ever really dress in the way I’m going to make up, but it’s the accepted stage-type, don’cher know.” “Ah! I daresay you will look very well in it,” murmured Ross Courtney, vaguely. “Hullo! here comes Denzil Murray!”