imed. "I
guess I've a right to do as I like, and I _will_. It's for your good as
well as mine, for me to marry a title, and I'm _going_ to. I shall say
'yes' when the Prince proposes."

"He won't propose," said she, suddenly as cool as if she had been in a
refrigerator.

"He will, the minute I give him the opportunity, and I shall to-morrow;
I don't care what you do."

"I bet he won't. I'll bet you a good deal. Anything you like, except the
long dress I've got in my trunk, and the package of hairpins in my
grip."

"What makes you think he won't?" I asked, worried by her manner, which
was odd.

"I know he won't."

"You know the Prince will never propose to me?"

She nodded.

I flew at her, and took her by the shoulders, as if she'd been seven
instead of--her present age.

"You cruel girl!" I exclaimed. "You're going to tell him how old I am,
and--and a lot of hateful things."

"No, I'm not, and for a good reason. It wouldn't change his mind. So
long as your banking account's all right, he wouldn't care if you were
Methusaleh. I shan't tell him anything about you. I shan't mention your
name. But he won't propose."

"What _are_ you going to do?" I stammered.

"That's my secret."

"Oh, you have got something in your head?"

She nodded again. "And up my sleeve."

"You will poison his mind."

"No, I won't. I shall only--play dolls."

And she went on unfastening my waist.

PART IV

TOLD BY MAIDA DESTREY

XVII

A CHAPTER OF MOTOR MANIA

What becomes of the beautiful army of days marching away from us into
the past? The wonderful days, each one differing from all the others:
some shining in our memory, in glory of purple and gold, that we saw
only as they passed, with the setting of the sun; some smiling back at
us, in their pale spring dress of green and rose; some weeping in grey;
but all moving at the same pace along the same road? The strange days
that have given us everything they had to give, and yet have taken from
us little pieces of our souls. Where do the days go? There must be some
splendid world where, when they have passed down to the end of the long
road, they all live together like queens, waited upon by those black
slaves, the nights that have followed them like their shadows, holding
up their robes.

I've had this thought in my mind often since I have been flashing across
Europe in an automobile, grudging each day that slipped from me and
would not stay a moment l