"But we've been paying all our own expenses; we haven't taken any money
from you," pleaded Alice.

"Of course you wouldn't do such a thing," affirmed Raynor. "My
instructions are to give you any sum of money you ask. In fact, the
Government of the United States is instructed to assume full
responsibility for you until your father arrives. May I go on and
clarify matters for these gentlemen, for Mr. Torrence at least is
entitled to a full explanation?"

"Constance," said Alice, turning with a little shrug to her friend, "we
have been caught! Our story is being spoiled for us. Please go on, Mr.
Raynor. Just what does the American State Department have to say about
us?"

"That you are endowed with a very unusual personality," continued
Raynor, his eyes twinkling. "You are not at all content to remain in
that station of life to which you were born; you like playing at being
all sorts of other persons. Once, so your friend the ambassador confided
to me, you ran away and followed a band of gypsies, which must have been
when you were a very little girl."

"I was seven," said Alice, "and the gypsies were nice to me."

"And then you showed talent for the stage----"

"A dreadful revelation!" she exclaimed.

"But you don't know that it was really your father who managed to have
Mrs. Farnsworth, one of the most distinguished actresses in England,
take charge of you."

"No! Alice never knew that!" said Mrs. Farnsworth, laughing. "I was her
chaperon as well as her preceptress; but Alice's father knew that if
Alice found it out it would spoil the adventure for her. Alice must do
things in her own way."

"You are a fraud," said Alice, "but I always suspected you a little."

"Speaking of the stage," resumed Raynor, "it is also a part of my
instructions that the Honorable Miss Seabring shall be discouraged from
any further adventures in that direction; she's far too talented;
there's danger of her becoming a great luminary. In other words, she is
not to grace the boards again as Violet Dewing."

Alice's brow clouded, and she turned to me. "That was settled when you
mailed that letter for me. It was to make an appointment with an
American playwright who wants me to appear in a most adorable comedy."

"His name is Dick Searles," I said, "and he's my most intimate friend."

She professed indignation when I told of my eavesdropping in the woods,
but when I explained that I knew all about the play and Searles's
despairing s