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him?”
    “Yes, love, it’s Kolya.” John moved aside and his wife hurried forwards, both hands held out.
    “Nikolai Mikhailovich, we were so worried about you.”
    He took her hands, very conscious that his friend was watching their meeting. He had once had a notion to marry Miss Rebecca Nuthall himself. “I am honoured to be subject of your concern, Lady John,” he said.
    “Lady John! I am still not used to the name. Will you not call me Rebecca Ivanovna as you did before?” Marriage had given the shy girl he had known poise and self-confidence—and an inner glow of happiness which radiated and made her beautiful.
    Kolya glanced at John, who nodded, grinning. “There’s no harm in private, and even in public people will only think you are a mad Russian.”
    “This is true, but I mean to become English gentleman.”
    John eyed his worn, shapeless clothes and roared with laughter.
    “Hush, John, do not be so rude,” Rebecca scolded. “Come and sit down, Nikolai Mikhailovich, and tell us everything. His Grace heard from Princess Lieven that the tsar found out you helped us escape and exiled you. Our thoughts have been with you constantly.”
    “Well, not quite constantly,” John demurred, dropping a kiss on his bride’s cheek as he sat down on the sofa beside her and took her hand.
    It was Kolya’s turn to laugh. “I hope new-marrieds have better things to think of.” He took a seat opposite the loving couple.
    Rebecca blushed. Apparently she had not altogether conquered her shyness. “A great deal, anyway,” she amended. “I have been longing to thank you for rescuing me from that terrible place.” She shivered and John put his arm around her shoulders.
    “Please, is better not to think of past. Some day I tell you my adventures and you tell me how you came back to England. Now we talk of future.”
    “Looking into my crystal ball,” said John, “the first thing I foresee is buying you some new clothes.”
    Rebecca pressed closer to her husband. Kolya wondered whether talk of a crystal ball had reminded her of the time his presence had saved John from an enraged Gypsy. It would be foolish to deny that they were in his debt. He would willingly accept their hospitality, but pride revolted at the thought of taking money.
    “I have not feather to fly,” he said, pleased with the English idiom despite his troubles. “Will not run up debt with no prospect to pay tailor.”
    “My purse is yours, my friend. You said that to me once.”
    Kolya shook his head. “And you did not take advantage. Nor will I. You say ‘hang on sleeve,’ yes? I will not hang on sleeve.”
    John looked stubborn, but Rebecca intervened. “There is no need to buy new clothes. If you do not mind, Nikolai Mikhailovich, I can easily have some of John’s things altered to fit you, and Lord Danville left some clothes here too, which he will never miss.”
    “Thank you, Rebecca Ivanovna, I will not refuse this. Truth is, I hate to wear peasant clothes. Will be good to dress as gentleman once more.”
    “Not my new green coat from Weston,” John said threateningly.
    Rebecca’s voice was demure but her eyes danced. “Why, I was just thinking, love, how well it would become Knyaz Nikolai.”
    “No, no, do not call me prince, I beg of you. Is not right for penniless exile to use title.” A thoroughly Russian passion rose in Kolya. “English will mock my country, my family. I love them still, though I have put them behind me forever.”
    “Forever?” asked John, embarrassed as he always was by the Slavic display of emotion. “You don’t think the tsar will relent?”
    “Forever. Did I not tell you once that moya dusha— mysoul is English? I will be English gentleman, plain Mr. Volkov. I will find respectable position to earn living. Perhaps duke will help?” he added hopefully.
    “Of course his Grace will help,” John assured him. “He knows we owe you our lives.”
    “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I shall go and