She tore the letter into small pieces and threw it behind the heap of snow at the back of the seat upon which she sat. Then she rose, looked at the bunch of violets still lying where she had laid them, and walked slowly away. She glanced over her shoulder at the old man sitting beneath the leafless trees at the other side of the broad avenue. He sat huddled within the high collar of his coat and heeded nothing. There was no one near to the seat that she had just vacated, and Martin was now going towards it. She hurried to the Saxon Palace, and as she passed beneath its arches turned just in time to see Martin bend over the stone seat and take up his talisman. He did it without disguise or haste. Anyone may pick up a flower, especially one that has been dropped by a pretty girl.
Martin walked on, and turned to the left down the path that leads to the Kotzebue gate.
Then the old man on the seat nearly opposite to that upon which Netty had been sitting seemed to arouse himself from the lethargy of misery. He turned his head within his high collar, and watched Martin until he was out of sight. Netty had disappeared almost at once beneath the arches of the covered passages of the palace.
After a pause the old man rose, and crossing the pathway, sat down on the seat vacated by Netty. He waited there a few minutes until the passersby had their backs turned towards him, and there was no one near enough to notice his movements. Then he stepped, nimbly enough, across the bank of gray snow, and collected the pieces of the letter which Netty had thrown there. He brought them back to the stone seat and spread them out there, like parts of a puzzle. He was, it seemed, an expert at such things; for in a moment he had them in order, and had pieced together the upper half of the paper. Moreover, he must have been a linguist; the note was written in English, and this Warsaw waif of the public gardens seemed to read it without difficulty.
“That of which you will not let me tell you is for tonight,” he read, and instantly felt for his watch within the folds of his ancient clothing. It was not yet midday. But the man seemed suddenly in a flurry, as if there were more to be done before nightfall than he could possibly compass.
He collected the papers and placed them carefully inside a shabby purse. Then he rose and departed in the direction of the governor-general’s palace. He must have been pressed for time, for he quite forgot to walk with the deliberation that would have beseemed his apparent years.
Netty walked round the outside of the gardens, and ultimately turned into the Senatorska, the street recommended to her by her uncle as being composed of the best shops in the town. Oddly enough, she met Joseph Mangles there—not loitering near the windows, but hurrying along.
“Ah!” he said, “thought I might meet you here.”
He was, it appeared, as simple as other old gentlemen, and leaped to the conclusion that if Netty was out-of-doors she must necessarily be in the Senatorska. He suited his pace to hers. His head was thrust forward, and he appeared to have something to think about, for he offered no remark for some minutes.
“The mail is in,” he then observed, in his usual lugubrious tone, as if the post had brought him his death-warrant.
“Ah!” answered Netty, glancing up at him. She was sure that something had happened. “Have you had important news?”
“Had nothing by the mail,” he answered, looking straight in front of him. And Netty asked no more questions.
“Your Aunt Jooly,” he said, after a pause, “has had an interesting mail. She has been offered the presidency—”
“Of the United States?” asked Netty, with a little laugh, seeing that Joseph paused.
“Not yet,” he answered, with deep gravity. “Of the Massachusetts Women Bachelors’ Federation.”
“Oh!”
“She’ll accept,” opined Joseph P. Mangles, lugubriously.
“Is it a great honor?”
“There are different sorts of greatness,” Joseph replied.
“What is the Massachusetts Women Bachelors’ Federation?”
Joseph Mangles did not reply immediately. He stepped out into the road to allow a lady to pass. He was an American gentleman of the old school, and still offered to the stronger sex that which they intend to take for themselves in the future.
“Think it is like the blue-ribbon army,” he said, when he returned to Netty’s side. “The sight of the ribbon induces the curious to offer the abstainer drink. The Massachusetts Bachelor Women advertise their membership of the Federation, just to see if there is any man around who will induce ’em to resign.”
“Is Aunt Jooly pleased?” asked Netty.
“Almighty,” was the brief reply. “And she will accept it. She will marry the paid secretary. They have a paid secretary. President usually marries him. He is not a bachelor-woman. They’re mostly worms—the men that help women to make fools of themselves.”
This was very strong language for Uncle Joseph, who usually seemed to have a latent admiration for his gifted sister’s greatness. Netty suspected that he was angry, or put out by something else, and made the Massachusetts Women Bachelors bear the brunt of his displeasure.
“She is a masterful woman is Aunt Jooly,” he said; “she’ll give him his choice between dismissal and—and earthly paradise.”
Netty laughed soothingly, and glanced up at him again. He was walking along with huge, lanky strides, much more hurriedly than he was aware of. His head was thrust forward, and his chin went first as if to push a way through a
