ver know him even! And that was a long time ago!--No,
it's some one else, and really a Prince, because he's so splendid! Oh,
Johnnie, guess! Guess the most wonderful person ever! Guess a knight!
Like Galahad! Oh, he's _exactly_ like Galahad!" Now she gazed past him.
There were tears on her eyelashes. Her parted lips were trembling. "I'm
too happy almost to live!" she added. Then down went her forehead to
rest on her knees, and he saw that she was trembling all over.

There was a long silence. Just at first he had felt inclined to taunt
her a little for being so changeable in her affections, so flighty; and
it had hurt his opinion of her, this knowledge that she could be
disloyal. But now he was curious. Who was really a Prince? and splendid?
and like Galahad?

He saw a figure, tall and dark, majestically seated upon a great, bay
horse. A cap shaded proud, piercing eyes. A uniform set the rider wholly
apart from all the ordinary men hurrying by in both directions. Who in
the city of New York was so like a knight as one of those brave, superb,
unapproachable, almost royal, creatures, a mounted policeman? ("Fine
Irishers," as Mrs. Kukor called them.)

Then Johnnie was reminded of something. "Cis, will y' be married with a
red carpet?" he whispered.

She looked up, turning on him a smile so sweet and glowing that it was
like a light. "I don't know," she whispered back. "Maybe--if I want
one--I think so." Down went her head again.

Now another picture. The carpet was laid. It stretched across the smooth
pavement under a long, high, gray canopy. A red carpet and a gray canopy
meant just one thing: great wealth. And Johnnie saw Cis following where
that carpet led, beside her one of the four richest men in the world.
This man was Mr. Astor (or Mr. Vanderbilt, or Mr. Rockefeller, or Mr.
Carnegie--any one of the quartette would do). The mounted policeman was
still a part of the happy scene, but only in an official capacity, since
from the back of his prancing bay he was keeping off the vast crowd that
was swarming to see the bridal couple.

And, naturally, the policeman, in spite of his fine uniform, was not to
be compared for a moment to the bridegroom. New York had many policemen;
it had only one Mr. Astor (or Mr. Vanderbilt, or Mr. Rockefeller, or Mr.
Carnegie). Also, the future surroundings of a Mrs. Policeman--what were
they when put alongside what Cis would have when she was Mrs.
Any-one-of-the-Four? A house as big as