the lineal
descendant of a princely house, the widow of a genuinely royal, though
deboshed personage. Perhaps you may say that the hero of a fairy-tale
never thinks of the mere rank of his beloved princess. If you do, you
are committing all sorts of fallacies in your premises. For one thing,
who said that Paul was a hero? For another, who said this was a
fairy-tale? For yet another, I am not so sure that the swineherd is not
impressed by the rank of his beloved. You must remember the insistent,
lifelong dream of the ragged urchin. You must also reflect that the
heart of any high-born youth in the land might well have been fluttered
by signs of peculiar favour from Princess Sophie Zobraska. Why' then,
should Paul be blamed for walking on air instead of greasy pavement on
the way from Berkeley Square to Portland Place? Moreover, as sanity
returned to him, his quick sense recognized in his Princess's offer to
support him, a lovely indiscretion. Foreign ladies of high position
must be chary of their public appearances. Between the row-boat on the
Serpentine and the platform in the drill hall, Hickney Heath, the
difference was but one of degree. And for him alone was this
indiscretion about to be committed. His exultation was tempered by
tender solicitude.

At dinner that evening--he was dining alone with the Winwoods--he said:
"I've persuaded the Princess to come to our meeting on Friday. Isn't it
good of her?"

"Very good," replied Colonel Winwood. "But what interest can she take
in the lower walks of English politics?"

"It isn't English politics," said Paul. "It's world politics. The
Princess is an aristocrat and is tremendously keen on the Conservative
principle. She thinks our scheme for keeping the youth of the nation
free from the taint of Socialism is magnificent."

"H'm!" said the Colonel.

"And I thought Miss Winwood would be pleased if I inveigled Her
Highness on to the platform," said Paul.

"Why, of course it's a good thing," assented the Colonel. "But how the
deuce did you get her?"

"Yes, how?" asked Miss Winwood, with a smile in her straight blue eyes.

"How does one get anything one wants in this world," said Paul, "except
by going at it, hammer and tongs?"

A little later, when Paul opened the dining-room for her to pass out,
she touched his shoulder affectionately and laughed. "Hammer and tongs
to Sophie Zobraska! Oh, Paul, aren't you a bit of a humbug?"

Perhaps he was. But he was ingenuous