."

"What's temperamental?"

"Having the devil and God in you both at the same time," muttered Peter
after a moment.

"I know," she said. "Satan and God, with God just sittin' back a little
to see how far Satan will go."

He smiled at her. "You don't mean that you have temptations too, Beth?"

She ignored his question, her face sober, and went back to her subject.

"I guess your prince wasn't any better or any worse than a lot of other
people. Maybe he didn't give God a chance?"

"No. Maybe not," said Peter.

"It seems to me he must have been kind of human, somehow," Beth
commented reflectively. "What's become of him now?" she asked, then.

"Oh, he's out of it," replied Peter.

"Dead?"

"Yes. His country has chucked all the nobility out on the dust heap."

"Russia?"

"Yes."

"Did they kill him?"

"They tried to, but couldn't."

"Where is he now?"

"A wanderer on the face of the earth."

"I'm so sorry. It must be terrible to have to eat pork and beans when
your stomach's only used to chocolate sundaes."

Peter grinned.

"Some of 'em were glad enough to get off with stomachs to put beans and
pork into. Oh, you needn't waste your pity, Beth."

"I don't. I read the papers. I guess they got what they deserved. The
workin' people in the world ain't any too keen on buyin' any more
diamond tiaras for loafers. I reckon it was about time for a new deal
all around without the face cards."

"Perhaps, Beth. But there's always the ten spot to take the deuce."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Beth reflectively. "People aren't
really equal--are they? Some apples _are_ better than others. I guess,"
she sighed, "that the real trouble with the world is because there ain't
enough friendship in it."

Peter was silent for a moment.

"Yes, that's true," he said, "not enough friendship--not enough love.
And it's all on account of money, Beth. There wouldn't have been any
European war if some people hadn't wanted property that belonged to
somebody else."

"I hope wanting this money won't make me hate anybody or make anybody
hate me. I don't want to make Mr. McGuire unhappy or Miss McGuire----"

"You needn't worry," said Peter dryly. "You see, it's your money."

Beth gave a deep sigh.

"I can't help it. I _would_ like to have a sport coat and a _cerise_
veil like Peggy wears."

"You shall have 'em. What else?"

"Some pretty patent leather shoes with rhinestone buckles----"

"Yes----"

"And a black v