He classified the Princess with that distinct type of woman that
looks as if it habitually went out to feed hens in the rain.
Her name was Olga; she kept what she hoped and believed to be a fox-
terrier, and professed what she thought were Socialist opinions. It
is not necessary to be called Olga if you are a Russian Princess; in
fact, Reginald knew quite a number who were called Vera; but the
fox-terrier and the Socialism are essential.
"The Countess Lomshen keeps a bull-dog," said the Princess suddenly.
"In England is it more chic to have a bull-dog than a fox-terrier?"
Reginald threw his mind back over the canine fashions of the last
ten years and gave an evasive answer.
"Do you think her handsome, the Countess Lomshen?" asked the
Princess.
Reginald thought the Countess's complexion suggested an exclusive
diet of macaroons and pale sherry. He said so.
"But that cannot be possible," said the Princess triumphantly; "I've
seen her eating fish-soup at Donon's."
The Princess always defended a friend's complexion if it was really
bad. With her, as with a great many of her sex, charity began at
homeliness and did not generally progress much farther.
Reginald withdrew his macaroon and sherry theory, and became
interested in a case of miniatures.
"That?" said the Princess; "that is the old Princess Lorikoff. She
lived in Millionaya Street, near the Winter Palace, and was one of
the Court ladies of the old Russian school. Her knowledge of people
and events was extremely limited; but she used to patronise every
one who came in contact with her.
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