Paul Sterne

Front matter

PAUL STEENE m- CICELY POWELL " No hero But a man still loving thee." Owen Meredith, LONDON JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL MILTON HOUSE, 14 and 15, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET AND 35, ST. BRIDE STREET, LTJDGATE CIRCUS, E.C. [AU rights reserved.] E. 8. DREWRY'S NOVELS. Price 2s. picture boards; 2s. 6d., cloth gilt; 3s. 6d. half morocco. Crown 8vo. ONLY AN ACTRESS ON DANGEROUS GROUND BAPTISED WITH A CURSE A DEATH RING [SHORTL Y. VERE DELMAR THE CLOUDS BETWEEN THEM LOVE'S LABOUR GAINED „ LONDON : J. & R. MAXWELL, Milton House, 14 & 15, Shoe Lane, Fleet Street ; AND 35, St. Bride Street, Ludgate Circus, E.C. And at all Bookstalls and Booksellers. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE i. THE PENSION DENIS 5 ii. JULIET 15 in. NEW YEAR'S EVE 25 iv. THE CARNIVAL 38 v. PAUL STERNE . 47 vi. A RED LETTER DAY 51 vn. APRES 65 viii.

ERLESHIRE 75 ix. THE HOPE SPRING BROUGHT .... 84 x. " HOW SHOULD I GREET THEE 1" . . .94 xi. PAUL AND JULIET 98 xn. LA BELLE NUIT 101 xm. A DAINTY BLUE GOAVN 115 xiv. TRUE LOVE 127 xv. " LEB'WOHL, MEIN KIND " . . . .139 xvi. "ES WAR EIN TRAUM" 150 xvn. HOME AND RUTH 156 xvni. LOVE OR DUTY 168 xix. JACK DEVERILL CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE xx. FRANK NOBLE l'/l xxi. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING . . . .177 xxn. BEAUCHAMP GRESWOLDE 187 xxiii. A WEDDING MORNING 195 xxiv. DEATH OF PAUL 202 xxv. TRUE SORROW 209 xxvi. THE RIVER 216 xxvii. SNATCHED FROM THE BRINK . . . .226 xxvm. "PEACE, LET HIM REST; GOD KNOWETH BEST" 228 xxix. JULIET'S SUFFERING 234 xxx. CONSOLATION 246 xxxi. AUNT OLIVE'S LOVE STORY . . . .258 xxxii. JULIET'S THOUGHTS 290 xxxiii. PAUL'S GRAVE 296 xxxiv. JULIET'S PERSEVERANCE IN WELL-DOING. 301 xxxv. A SOUND OF MARRIAGE BELLS . . .305 xxxvi. HELEN STER/^tTJ§*-X

Chapter I. The Pension Denis

Often I think of the beautiful town." — Longfellow. It is situate, this beautiful town which, in my story, is to play so important a part, in the German Fatherland ; but for reasons strong and various it shall be nameless. Should I be able to describe it accurately enough, it will not be difficult for readers to detect its vicinity. If so, I am content; I shall neither agree nor dissent. When I think of it, the dearest, prettiest town I know, dearer, far dearer — unpatriotic as it may sound — than any town in m)7 native England, the town which, since a happy, happy time there long ago, I have seen only in dreams, my pen seems powerless, and I become utterly unable to paint but feebly the beauties of that spot. Perhaps I am prejudiced; perhaps — who knows ? — there is in memory a link which binds me to it as our dear dead ones with a golden chain bind us heavenwards.

It may be, when I saw it in my youth, at an age when one enjoys most things, I looked at it through rose-coloured spectacles. I know not ; but I know that, to me, its beauties, its attractiveness never waned, that as then, so now, no other town will ever possess the same charm. I should like to see it — waking, not dreaming — once more before I die. Beautiful city ! I remember thee, and shall while life lasts. This rara avis of towns stands on a broad river. The houses of that dazzlingly white stone, are built in lovely gardens, and have a bright, gay look. There are grand churches, a cathedral renowned for its choir of singers. Lovely old castles — king's summer palaces — grace the river's banks. Art flourishes : there are sculpture, painting, music, and originals of world-famed pictures.

Of these anon. A little way back in the Biirge Strasse stood — stands now, for aught I know — the Pension Denis. Come v/ith me there. It is a big, white house, five-storied, with balconied windows looking on the Strasse villas, gardens, and mountains — mountains alternately lying in deep shadow, then glittering in warm, golden sunbght. Madame and her two daughters occupied one etage ; the pensionnaires and governesses used the others. It was the first school in the town of which I write. Madame, the widow of a French professor, herself of very good, even aristocratic, connections, had, on his death, taken the Pension. She was aided by her two daughters. Before that she had bved a happy life in Paris, where her husband was professor of French literature at different colleges and schools. Her plan succeeded.

Her friends and her own energy procured her pupils. She had the best staff of professors and governesses in L , my nameless town, and they were no mean set. She was great at organising, and the school soon, despite the enormous expenses the keeping up of such an estab lishment entailed, realised for her a large income. That madame was of the noblesse was easily seen at a glance. Her distingue appearance, her perfect manners, told you that. At the risk of being wearisome — descriptions so often are, except to the writer — described she must be. Tab, but uot ungracefully so, she had a fine regal air, like that of some stately French queen ; there was a sparkle yet in her blue eyes, and a fresh, rosy colour bloomed on her cheeks. Her nose was decidedly retrousse1, but that lent a dash of piquancy to her face.

One could fancy it in her youth looking provokingly impertinent. She had at that time been a great belle ; all the pensionnaires would tell you that, and the fact was easy to believe. In looking at her, one was sure of one thing — she was, and always must have been, aristocrate down to her dainty finger-tips. She wore fine white muslin caps, trimmed with rows upon rows of lace, the strings tied under her chin • dear bttle snow-white curls framed her face, and she would sweep into the class-room in a straight, black-silk gown. She was splendid as a directrice, and gave an air of dignity to the Pension ; but, practically, her elder daughter, Mademoiselle Annette, a rosy cheeked, stout, comfortable little woman of forty, managed the school. Madame, though helping with the management, rarely appeared ; and, as she was endowed with a great propensity for scolding, which feat she per formed in several languages, the pensionnaires were well pleased it was so.

On special occasions, such as examinations, she would visit the fourth etage and take a turn in each class-room, sitting through the different lessons the professors gave. Terrible indeed were such visits. At her approach the foreign girls made what she cabed a rivirence and kissed her hand. The rivirence was expected from all, and if not made, she would say, with her stateliest air, " Votre reverence ? " raising her arched eyebrows in a manner quite pecubar to her. Besides Mademoisebe Annette, there was a younger daughter, Mademoiselle Melanie, commonly called Marie. She was young — id est, about twenty-eight, and inherited Madame's good looks. Her small head was well set, her skin was soft and pretty, there was a flush of debcate pink blooming in her cheeks, and her eyes were those blue-black eyes which at night have a dash of violet in their depths.

Full of verve and piquancy, Mademoiselle Melanie was always sunshiny and sparkling, always on the qui vive. So pretty and graceful was she, it was a mystery to all the pensionnaires why she had never married. If a single woman be at all pretty and attractive, it always is to every one but herself a marvel why she does not marry. Numerous reports as to the reasons of Made moiselle Melanie's single blessedness were current in the school. She had been engaged to a Russian officer : he was killed in the wars while performing doughty deeds. Then she had vowed a vow of celibacy, after which, womanlike, she was on the verge of verlobung with a German count, when he, disgusted with her powers of flirting, had withdrawn. There had been a duel fought between a young English milord and a gallant Russian prince, ab for her sweet sake.

Finally, she had been such a coquette, all her lovers had forsaken her at the eleventh hour, and she had ended by vowing never to leave her little mother, her adorie. Rumour said all this, and more. For the authen ticity of the statements je ti'en sais rien. Melanie Denis she was, and Melanie Denis likely to remain. As for fat, chubby bttle Miss Annette, not pretty, as I have said, but decidedly good, to her report allotted one lover, to wit, Herr Segel. But later of him. Great excitement prevailed in the Pension. There very bttle in the shape of novelty sufficed to create a stir. A new pensionnaire had arrived from Eng land, " a leetle Eengleesh mees," as Mademoiselle Annette termed her, from a remote part of a northern country we will call Blankshire. Madame Wagner, a friend of the dames Denis, at their august request had escorted her.

The new pensionnaire had not yet appeared, and was at present in the drawing-room with Madame Denis aud Madame Wagner. Her name was Juliet Fairfax. The girls' curiosity as to the new comer would soon be gratified. As they, Russians, Roumanians, Germans, etc., trooped out of the class-rooms, the gong sounded, and they retired a floor below to the big dining-hall. Said a dark-eyed, picturesque-looking Roumanian, by name, EmUie Floresco, now Countess Bibesco, and one of the Bottochany belles, as she sidled up to Ma demoisebe Annette, who had just entered the room — " Oh ! mademoiselle, tell me " — in that pleading, half-wining tone peculiar to foreigners — "tell me what the new one is like." " C'est une tres-gentille fillette," returned Ma demoisebe Annette, smiling for pure good-nature all over her fat little face.

Tu verras, Emibechen, tout a l'heure." The three long dining-tables, two presided over by German and English governesses, were rapidly filbng. At the third, Mademoiselle Annette took her place. Grace was just over, the girls had hardly finished crossing themselves devoutly, when Mademoiselle Melanie, as usual, sparkling, beaming, her blue eyes flashing, her pretty white teeth gleaming, her face ab aglow, entered, leading by the hand a slight, child-like figure in a dark brown velvet dress. The face of the child was small and rounded, the skin very fair, with the faintest pink flush on each cheek ; the eyes were " deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," with dark lashes, the hair golden brown falbng over her shoulders clrild-fashion. It was a baby-face, white, fine and smaU-featured, which from its very softness and childishness had an attractive look.

The tender appeal in the eyes and about the mouth was very touching, going straight to Mademoiselle Annette's motherly heart. It is foby to talk of there being suffering on the face of a chfld of fourteen, unless there be illness or some special sad reason, but on this childish face there was, about the corners of the small mouth and in the earnest eyes, a look of suffering to come. The face was pretty, babyish, smiling, and yet the capacity for suffering was there. Mademoiselle Melanie had put her in a vacant place, near her kind sister, Mademoiselle Annette, and Juliet, not a little red and uncomfortable at the stares of the dark, black-browed foreigners, was busy with her soup. Little Mademoiselle Annette, calling her " enfant," " cherie," " fibette," " bijou," tried to put her at her ease, and talked to her in pretty, broken English.

But, nevertheless, the gaze of forty school-girls of such cosmopolitan origin surpasses the " stony British stare," and Juliet felt relieved when the meal was over. " Tiens I Cedine," said Mademoisebe Annette, addressing a tall, pale-faced girl, with long black hair, done in a Mozart's zopfchen, " take thou the bttle one, show her the dortoir, the class-rooms. Comfort her ; she has the home-sickness, may be." The smile on Juliet's face, the appealing look in her eyes, the confiding touch, as she placed her tiny hand in the tall girl's, moved Celine strangely. These soft, caressing bttle ways, innate in Juliet and other women, are dangerously touching. Together they left the dining-hab, Celine speaking fragmentary English, and Juliet very English - French, managing, on the whole, pretty well.

As they passed, Mademoisebe Annette looked after Juliet with a motherly look, saying to her sister — " Est-ebe gentille ! cette petite, Marie ! My heart warms to her, the poor one, coming all the way from England, from Yore, with Madame Wagner. And she has no mother, the mignonne! We will make her gay and happy. She will be in your class, Marie ; you wib be good, not too hasty. Yes ?" " The little cabbage ! She looks as if she could bear no cross words. The tears were in her eyes when I spoke of her leaving home." "Ah! Annettchen," said Mademoiselle Melanie, impulsively throwing her arms round her fat little sister, and kissing her heartily on each cheek, " you have the good heart." And evading utterly the little lady's question, tribing high at the top of her voice some sparkling French song, she skipped into the salon, leaving Mademoiselle Annette thinking, thinking, thinking !

"It is a loving child," she said, lapsing into English, as she spoke of Juliet. Then, thoughtfully poising her beringed forefinger on her fat, broad bttle nose, and toddling into the corridor as she spoke, — " Mais, mais — ebe va souffrir ! " After ab, it was only Mademoiselle Annette's soliloquy, and she had such a gentle, tender heart, she could not bear to see a worm suffer.

Chapter II Juliet

To me, to speak and to write of Jubet Fairfax are pleasurable ; for, if I may be so precipitate, she is no created ideal, but a living, breathing heroine. She was the daughter of a retired officer, colonel of his regiment, who lived, fortunately for him, not on his pay alone, but on ample means, in a rambling country house in Blankshire. The Manor House, as it was cabed, nestled at the foot of the Wolds, the ;;olemn grey lulls and moors surrounding it. Here, in the little hamlet of Moordale, thirteen miles from a town, he had settled after his wife's death. This last event happened shortly after Juliet's birth. The parson of the adjoining village, and one or two faniihes living in country houses not far distant, were his only neighbours. When Juliet was about fourteen, there chanced to come into these remote wilds a handsome, dashing widow of about eight-and-thirty, a widow with one encumbrance, kept well in the background, in the shape of an orphan niece of nineteen, still safe at school.

The widow was a niece of the old parson. She was on the look-out for a husband. Why, a year, all but a month, of her widowhood had already expired ! and, after the manner of widows, her thoughts ran on wedding garments, bride-cake, and last, not least, as a natural accessory, bridegroom. She came, saw the Colonel, and conquered. Being by nature an inveterate schemer the task was easy to her. In three months from that day she was Mrs. Fairfax number two ; three months after which, the little fair-haired chdd, her father's pet, was des patched to a foreign school in Germany, highly recommended by the step-mother. She had not exactly taken to the child with the outlandish name. " For goodness sake, Jack," she said to the Colonel, " let her go to school and get knocked into shape. In a year or two she will be at that awkward ago all legs and arms, don't you know.

Besides, as she wrote to a bosom-friend, " there's Ruth. She, I hope, will marry soon, but there's no knowing. A niece and a hobbledehoy daughter ! what is one to do with both?" And Mrs. Fairfax talked her husband round as women can talk men round. The Colonel, good hearted and impulsive, but vacillating, yielded. Juliet was to go. So the dear old home, the Wolds, solemn, grey, and grim, yet beauteous in the bloom and glory of purple heath, like some plain, homely old woman, JULIET with a beautiful heart and nature, were left — left for the Fatherland. Adelaide Fairfax, better that you had never come, better that you had remained a widow for ever, than have sent the little motherless child away from her simple country home ! As soon as Juliet's exodus was accomplished, Mrs. Fairfax unearthed the Colonel from the Blank shire wilderness, and they took a small house iu London.

The Manor House at Moordale was let to an asthmatic old gentleman, who breathed better in the fresh air of the Wolds. The higher this person got the less he panted. As for the loneliness of the place, that just suited him. He was old, tottery, and toothless, and no ornament to society, which he cordially detested. Mrs. Fairfax determined to have a good time in town before Ruth returned from her school in Paris. Juliet had no recollection, however dim, of a mother's love and tenderness. She had a pas sionately loving, sensitive nature, for which she had bttle outlet. Let those who read her story think of this, let them remember it. Colonel Fairfax, though loving her dearly, had been very reserved since his wife's death. Sorrow seals up many a heart, though some well regulated minds have it one can be scolded out ot' a c sorrow, and cast it behind one like an old garment, but theu these are the perfect people, people I most fear of any.

Their serenity is never unruffled, their lives flow like some calm, limpid stream with never a break or obstruction : how then can they under stand the overpowering force of a mighty river, of angry, swirling water, dashed hither and thither on jagged rocks and stones ? They whose sky is blue, cloudless, tinged with sunshine, think not of storms in the horizon, see not the lightning's white flash, hear not the niutterings of distant thunder, and the black, driving rain:'. I say sorrow seals up many a heart — I am not a perfect person : I say there are weary ones crossing our path daily dubbed by us "so cold," "so re served," "so unfeeling," suffering from a great terrible grief, whose magnitude they are ever striving to hide. Do not question, do not pry, do not judge ; rather help them to hide that grave and cover it with flowers.

This deep fount of love lay in Juliet's heart un touched — unwanted yet. I am not going to enter into a category of her faults and virtues. I know that faulty, impulsive, and capricious as she was, to me she was always lovable. I know there was an innocence, a puritv of mind and heart in her very sweet. I know so faithful was she in her affections, she would have laid down her life for a loved one. JULIET 19 Her sensitiveness was, and would be through life, her stumbling-block. Her capacity for enjoyment and for suffering were for this world too great, too intense. She was to stay at the Pension Denis at least two years ; after that no plans were made. She was sorry to leave her Blankshire home, she had loved it so much. She was sorry to go to a strange land; and yet, though suffering in losing her father, at heart she was glad also.

She had tried her best to be gentle and kind to her step-mother ; but she knew that had she stayed there would have been between her and Mrs. Fairfax, a wider breach than the North Sea now made. Colonel Fairfax was to blame in that so soon after his second marriage he parted with the child. But a handsome wife like Mrs. Fairfax has unbounded influence. Education on ab sides is admitted to be important. Que voulez vous ? So this lonely Juliet came to a foreign land, to what, for an indefinite time, was to be her home. It was different, the foreign country7, the mixed nations, the impetuous, fiery, southern-blooded girls ; the atmosphere, scenery, climate, all had a strange effect on the craving, longing, unsatisfied nature of the girl. AU was a contrast to the quiet, grey, com panionless life in the Northern home.

In a few weeks, after one or two attacks of home sickness, much sympathised with by the girls, and joby little Miss Annette, Jubet felt settled, and began to like her new life. She had a natural thirst for knowledge, and her lessons were more novel than they had been. Celine de Schulow was her friend, and soon they had a grand compact to that effect. Mademoiselle Marie was cheery, chirpy, capricious and exacting, yet always charming. Mademoiselle Annette remained as she was from the first day, kind, sympathetic, and true. "But did we not tell you?" said the pensionnaires, gushingly, to Juliet : " She is a veritable angel, she has the heart of gold ! " Juliet grew to love her dearly. At eight in the morning lessons began, ending at one o'clock, the dinner-hour. Then on again from three to five, at which hour, during the summer months, a long walk was taken.

Her music lessons Juliet loved intensely. She had music in her soul and heart. It had a strange effect on her nature. She could suffer while a tender, plaintive ballad was sung, while a soul-stirring grand melody in which beamed flashes of Heaven was played. Herr Segel, of whom till now mention has been deferred, was not the most sympathetic of masters. He was the professor of music allotted to Juliet. Karl Moritz Segel was a widower, and bad been JULIET for some years, since when he had been a constant admirer of Mademoiselle Annette. It was even rumoured that he helped Madame Denis in her money matters, and had been her mainstay, coming to the rescue with capital when she formed her school. It was easy to see that in all he did he had one aim — the winning of Madernoisehe Annette. He certainly was ami de la maison, and most intimate with Mesdames Denis, ab but Mademoiselle Marie : she had an eternal grudge against him, and never vouchsafed him look or word.

All the girls said Mademoiselle Annette was too good for him ; he was one of the ugliest, most repulsive men one could see in a journey's march. Little, stumpy, and squat in figure, " nosey " to a degree, he had a huge hump on his back, a lean, sabow face, a fierce, flaxen moustache, little pig's eyes, and lean fingers adorned by two diamond and emerald rings, given him by some Polish countess in admiration of his charming compositions. Mean and shabby as he was in appearance, pompous and tempersome, he had a good heart, and was a true musician. In playing his mournful pathetic sonatas, in sing ing his fresh, tender little songs, one could forgive a great deal one found repulsive in him. He was wont to walk in and out of the Pension Denis as if it belonged to him, and with a " monarch of ab I survey " kind of look.

Often of an evening he would come i a for supper, and, taking a place near Mademoiselle Annette, his eyes would never leave her face. He had a snarling voice, harsh to the highest degree. It softened when he spoke to and of her. Lively little Miss Annette never seemed to give him encouragement, though he followed her footsteps bke some faithful dog. Despite his unattractiveness the girls invested him with a great amount of romance. He had lost his wife six months after marriage ; he had been broken-hearted. Years after he had come to teach at the Pension, had helped Madame Denis in her affairs — all for Mademoiselle Annette's sake— for whom he had conceived an amorous passion. Rumour said also that the slender gold chain he wore on his brown fat neck had belonged to his adored one, Mademoiselle Annette, when she was a child, and had been given to him by her mother.

Girls at school invest any male with romance, for the simple reason that they see so few. Jubet soon became a favourite in the school ; her pretty face, her winning ways were her passport to many hearts. Soon after her arrival, her friend Celine left unexpectedly, and for a time she felt lonely. But after the summer term came a black-eyed JULIET merry Russian girl, Luboff— or Luba, as the girls called her. She took a great fancy to the pretty little English girl. She spoke English very well, and that was a link between them. Luba Krotkoff showed very impulsively her love for Juliet, and they became devoted friends. Juliet's nature very soon responded to love. She told Luba all about her Northern home, her step mother, her lonely life. In return, Luba talked of her home in Petersburg, of her father, and pretty dead mother.

Olga, Nadine, and Vera, her sisters, became familiar by name to Juliet. The two girls gushed, as all school-girls do and will gush to the end of the chapter, and were as happy in their friendship as the day is long. It had been summer when Jubet reached the Pension. That lovely season, with its wealth of sweets and flowers, had fled; autumn had waned; Christmas, such a hearty, festive season in Germany, drew nigh. Fat fowls and turkeys were slain and consumed ; champagne and punch were the beverages de rigueur ; stately looking baumkilchen graced the tables. Do you know, Epicurean reader, what baumkuchen is like ? If not, a treat lies in store for you. I could eat a school-girl's slice this very minute. I have never tasted it since I left the pleasant Fatherland. It was high-day holiday at the Pension.

For every7 member of the household there were presents galore, and no end of surprises. A noble Christmas-tree, radiantly illuminated with hundreds of flashing bghts (a figure in wax of the child-Christ at the top) bedight with dainty gifts on every branch, reared its proud head aloft in the recreation-room. Already the carnival was mooted, the thing of the New Year. The girls bought and made their own costumes for it, and for months before, the event was much talked of, hopes were high, and anticipation great.

Chapter III New Year's Eve

It was New Year's Eve, the first New Year's Eve Juliet had spent from home since she was born. Soon the bell would ring for the girls to go down to the big dining-hall, and dance tdl twelve. Between whiles ices and punch would be copiously partaken of. Before going down many of the girls were seated in the recreation-room having an animated discussion. There were one or two Roumanians, a graceful, pretty Pole, Luba, Juliet, and some Russians. We all know what a superstitious race the latter are. The conversation turned on ghosts, the future, things supernatural and uncanny. " Oh, mesdames," said a lively, little, golden haired, blue-eyed Russian, " how I should like to know my future ! There is a way — my old nurse Olga told me of seeing it on New Year's Eve — by looking through mirrors " "Is there?" interrupted the romantic Polish maiden.

" I should like to go to the glass and petition for a husband. That's what I want the future to bring me. I should say — Un mari, Sainte Katrine, Et beau, Sainte Katrine, Et riche, Sainte Katrine, Et bientot, Sainte Katrine Mais un mari quelconque, St. Katrine," she finished, looking desperate, aud clasping her hands tragically. " Pfui ! " remarked a demure-looking German, whose secret ambition, cherished hope, and dream were " un mari." " But," continued the little Russian, earnestly, " tell me who'll slip away before twelve and sit up to do it ? " " I will," said Juliet, her face all aglow with enthusiasm at the notion. The seeds of superstition had been fostered in her breast in the wild North "countree," and the very mention of the supernatural had for her imaginative nature a charm. " Ah, Juliette ! zipka," Luba's favourite term of endearment for her friend, " don't try this plan ; don't peer into what is hidden from us— don't. Ah ! darling," a winning smile breaking out on her face, that pretty caressing tone in her voice so un- English yet so charming, "j t'en prie ne le fais pas."

" But why ? " queried Juliet, curiously, the pink flush deepening on her flower-cheeks, opening her large, blue eyes, in whose depths there lay such a sweet, ingenuous look. " Have you ever done it ? " Luba's freckled face grew paler. She lowered her dark eyes and began toying nervously with a slim twist of gold on her plump finger ; but she did not answer. " Lubinka," came from a chorus of eager voices, " you have done it ! Do tell us all about it." And Luba told them. "What I am going to teb you happened some years ago. Ah ! mesdames, I hardly like to speak of it. It was one New Year's Eve before my mother died. I was at home in Petersburg. The mother inka had not been very well. I had a friend staying with me, Nadya Volkow. She was full of romance and superstition. She proposed, nay determined, to sit up that very New Year's Eve, and watch in the glass from twelve to one. ' You must do it, too, Luba,' she said ; ' it will be great fun.