zenith of his powers and knowledge, with his work unfinished? I’ve got to carry it on; it’s up to me. Especially since the Princess Inna Andreyevna Tchernova is going to settle in this neighborhood.”
So stern, so uncompromising was her intonation, that I got right up off my cushions, kissed her a bit timidly, and scooted up to my room. Yes, scooted is the right word; I felt that my room was going to be a haven of refuge for me that night, as far as possible from the open courtyard where Portia might later be carrying on her strange performances.
I couldn’t help thinking, as I put my hair into crimpers (Portia likes it better waved and it’s quite the same to me) that my niece was going a little too far in her jealousy of the beautiful foreigner. A coquette the princess might be, but now that I tried to look at the matter without prejudice, if she were infatuated with Owen, it was no one’s business but her own if she attempted to win his affection. Of course, as Portia’s
friend I didn’t want the princess to succeed, but if Owen were to prefer Irma to Portia, and Portia didn’t feel like lifting a finger to hold him, then it was Portia’s loss and Irma’s gain.
I went to bed, wondering only what my niece would be doing throughout the long night hours. I had my suspicions. As for me, I slept splendidly, in spite of a heavy electrical storm that must have come up in the middle of the night, for when I went to the market the following morning, there were traces of the destruction wrought, such as many trees with broken boughs. One telegraph pole and all the wires attached to it lay across the side street running parallel with Gilman street.
Gus Stieger, Portia’s estimable if expensive butcher, beamed happily at me as I waited for him to finish a big order he was just preparing.
“Let it wait, let it wait, ma’am. I’m just cutting off the tough pieces”—he winked atrociously—“for the Russian lady’s wolves. That’s sure going to be fine business.”
“The Russian lady’s wolves?” I echoed, somewhat at a loss, until the truth flashed across me and I interpreted his facetiousness aright. “Oh, you mean the Princess Tchernova, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh. She’s movin’ today into that there big house and she’s brought a cage with five big gray wolves, for pets.”
A huge laugh widened his good-natured mouth.
“Ain’t, that a good one, though?” he added. “Wolves for pets!”
I gave him my order and went over to the grocer’s. Mike Amadio appeared somewhat disgruntled, and upon inquiry I found that he was as disgusted and disappointed in the newcomer as Gus had been delighted.
“No bread! No sugar! No butter! No eggs!” mourned Mike with expressive hands a-spread in gesticulation. “No salads! No vegetables! What does the lady eat, I want to know? Meat!” disgustedly. “Just meat—and meat—and meat! Red, bloody meat! Like a savage, that proud lady, she eats nothing but meat. Gus has told me what quantities he sends to her where she has been boarding. Pounds and pounds of bloody meat every day!”
“Perhaps she has some savage Russian pets, Mike,” I suggested.
Evidently Mike had not thought of this. He nodded with sullen acquiescence, but I could see that he was much disgruntled. It was apparent that the tradesmen in Meadowlawn had been making their plans with regard to the newcomer and were being sadly disappointed. It seemed that the Princess Tchernova was not a tremendously large con-
