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Mrs. Porter was plunged in despair at the proposal, for to penetrate to the interior of Russia seemed to her like invading one of the wildest and most impossible countries on earth. In vain her husband assured her that Russian hotels were notoriously comfortable, and that, indeed, to attain comfort in every department of his living was the ideal of the Russian. To begin with, there was no more delightful course of ocean travel than that supplied by the steamers of the Russian-American line from New York to Libau. And to visit any of the peaceful countries of Europe was a very different matter, anyway, from a journey in strife-broken Mexico. Mr. Porter was obliged to admit that it would necessitate a long journey, but he was sure every part of it would be so delightful that his wife would never regret having gone.

Mrs. Porter was not in the least convinced, but experience had taught her that when her husband once fixed his mind on a thing he seldom gave it up, so she proposed a compromise. She would make one of the party as far as New York, but would remain there with her sister, whom she had long wished to visit, until Mr. Porter and the boys returned in September.