my house at home," he returned. "She came originally from Rome; she is not Greek and she is very like you, the same droop of head--I remarked it immediately--I am superstitous--I suppose you would call what I mean by that word-- and I knew directly that some day you, too, would mean things to me. That is why I spoke--do you feel it, too?"
Stella Rawson quivered. The incredible situation paralyzed her. She--the Aunt Caroline's niece, and engaged to Eustace Medlicott, the Bishop's junior chaplain, to be listening to a grotesque- looking foreigner making subtle speeches of an insinuating character, and, far from feeling scandalized and repulsed, to be conscious that she was thrilled and interested--it was hardly to be believed!
"Will you tell me from where you come?" she asked with sweet bashfulness, raising two eyes as soft as brown velvet. "You speak English so very well--one cannot guess."
"I am a Russian," he said simply. "I come from near Moscow--and my name is Sasha Roumovski, Count Roumovski. Yo