With the furs and the sledges, and the three horses
galloping over the snow--it seems to me it must be the
best thing in Europe--if you can call Russia Europe.
That's the way it presents itself to me--but then I was
brought up in a half-Arctic climate, and I love that sort
of thing--in its proper season. It is different with you.
In England you don't know what a real winter is.
And so I have to make quite sure that you think you would
like the Russian experiment."
The other laughed gently. "But if I don't know what a
real winter is, how can I tell whether I will like it
or not? All I do know is that I am perfectly willing to go
and find out. Oh yes--truly--I should like very much to go."
Miss Madden sighed briefly. "All right," she said,
but with a notable absence of conviction in her tone.
A space of silence ensued, as she opened and glanced through
another note, the envelope of which had borne no postmark.
She pouted her lips over the contents of this missive,
and raised her eyebrows in token of surprise, but as she
laid it down she looked with a frank smile at her companion.
"It's from our young friend," she explained, genially--
"the painter-boy--Mr. D'Aubigny. It is to remind me
of a promise he says I made--that when I came to London
he should paint my portrait. I don't think I promised
anything of the kind--but I suppose that is a detail.
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