on a sofa
among a pile of cushions, with a big box of candy, and dozens of new
English society novels. Yet now that I _am_ free to do as I like, not
for one month, but for all the time, I go gadding around the world at
twenty or thirty miles an hour (they feel like twice as many) in an
automobile.

However, it's just as if I had walked right into a novel myself, to be
one of the heroines. I've read a good many novels with young widows for
heroines; in fact, I prefer them, as it's so pleasant to put yourself in
the heroine's place while you read, especially if you're interested in
the hero.

In my novel that I've stepped into, there are three heroes if I count
Mr. Barrymore, and I suppose I may (though he's only the chauffeur, as
the Prince often reminds me), for Beechy says that Sir Ralph Moray
tells her he comes from a very fine family.

At first I didn't know but Sir Ralph would be the real hero, for by an
odd coincidence _he_ is twenty-nine, which is my age--if it's true, as
Madame says, that a woman has a right to count herself no older than she
looks. Besides, I'm very partial to the English; and though I was a
little disappointed, after seeing that advertisement of his, to learn
that the "titled Englishman" owning a motor-car, was no higher than a
baronet, I thought he might do. But somehow, though kind and attentive,
he has never shown the same warm interest that Prince Dalmar-Kalm takes
in me, and then it is so romantic that I should be buying an estate with
one of the titles belonging to the Prince's family. I can't help feeling
now that the Prince, and no one but the Prince, is _meant_ for the hero
of this story of which I am the heroine. After all, what title sounds so
well for a woman as "Princess"? It might be royalty, and I'm sure it
would be admired in Denver.

The change in me may be partly owing to the excitement of realizing that
I'm in a grander sphere than any I have ever entered before, or dared
hope to enter, and that this may be but a kind of ante-chamber to
something still grander. Of course I might have gone on this trip in the
Prince's automobile, if he had known in time that I had a fancy to try
motoring, but perhaps it's better as it is. I like being independent,
and it's just as well to have several men in the party, so that no one
among them can think he's going to have everything his own way.

Who, that knew me a few years--or even a few months--ago, would have
believed I could be p