CHAPTER VII.
STCHOUKINE DVOR.
January 12, 1878.
THERE is no possibility of denying that Judith is a coquette. It is the only thing I dislike about her. She is a dear, sweet-tempered girl; but sometimes I think she is perfectly heartless, when I see how she trifles with these men. I don't feel so sorry for George, because he is a thorough man of the world, and quite able to take care of himself; besides which, I have a strong conviction that if Judith cares for any of them, it is for him.
But poor Sacha is young and unsophisticated, and does not understand what the word flirtation means. He has my hearty sympathy, as has also Prince Tucheff, a vigorous sexagenarian, who is making, as Tom forcibly expresses it, "an old goose of himself" over Judith.
This is the conversation which I overheard between them the other day:—
"Blue," said the prince, looking at the dress which Judith wore, "is the color of the skies, and should be looked up to."
"Hear that!" whispered Tom. "He must be awfully hard up for a remark."
