"Oh! come Aunt Clara!" Tom Underdown protested, as he buttered his
toast. "I think you are a little behind the times. There is a Russian
at Oxford with me and he is the decentest chap in the world. You speak
as though they almost lived on raw fish!"

"My dear Tom," said Miss Underdown, severely. "I was reading only
yesterday, in the 'Christian Clarion,' how one of their Emperors cut
off everyone's head. Dreadful customs they have, it seems; and one of
their Empresses--Catherine, I think; her name was. Well, dear, it is
too shocking to speak of--and most people were sent to the mines!"

"Oh! hang it all, Aunt Clara, you can't have looked at the date! You
can hunt up just those jolly kind of stories about our Henry VIII. if
you want to, you know, and our Elizabeth wasn't the saint they made
out. And as for Siberia, I am going there myself some day, on the
Trans-Siberian Railway. Tamara will be all right. I wish to heavens she
had taken me with her. We have got dry rot in this house, that is what
is the matter with us!"

"Tom!" almost gasped Miss Underdown. "Your manners are extremely
displeasing, and the tone of your remarks is far from what one could
wish!"

Meanwhile Tamara was speeding on her way to the North, her interest and
excitement in her journey deepening with each mile.