“Yes, I did hear a woman’s voice calling, but whose I do not know. The someone was calling you in Russian. Ah! Now I can see whence the cries come. They come from that lady there⁠—the one who is sitting on the settee, the one who has just been escorted to the verandah by a crowd of lackeys. Behind her see that pile of luggage! She must have arrived by train.”

“But why should she be calling me ? Hear her calling again! See! She is beckoning to us!”

“Yes, so she is,” assented Mr. Astley.

“Alexis Ivanovitch, Alexis Ivanovitch! Good heavens, what a stupid fellow!” came in a despairing wail from the verandah.