gh the debris on the top of the Acropolis. Carlton
had thought, as he watched her sitting on the wall, with her chin
resting on her hand, that she would make a beautiful companion picture
to the one he had wished to paint of Miss Morris--the one girl standing
upright, looking fearlessly out to sea, on the top of the low wall,
with the wind blowing her skirts about her, and her hair tumbled in the
breeze, and the other seated, bending intently forward, as though
watching for the return of a long-delayed vessel; a beautifully sad
face, fine and delicate and noble, the face of a girl on the figure of
a woman. And when she rose he made no effort to move away, or, indeed,
to pretend not to have seen her, but stood looking at her as though he
had the right to do so, and as though she must know he had that right.
As she came towards him the Princess Aline did not stop, nor even
shorten her steps; but as she passed opposite to him she bowed her
thanks with a sweet impersonal smile and a dropping of the eyes, and
continued steadily on her way.

Carlton stood for some short time looking after her, with his hat still
at his side. She seemed farther from him at that moment than she had
ever been before, although she had for the first time recognized him.
But he knew that it was only as a human being that she had recognized
him. He put on his hat, and sat down on a rock with his elbows on his
knees, and filled his pipe.

"If that had been any other girl," he thought, "I would have gone up to
her and said, 'Was that man annoying you?' and she would have said,
'Yes; thank you,' or something; and I would have walked along with her
until we had come up to her friends, and she would have told them I had
been of some slight service to her, and they would have introduced us,
and all would have gone well. But because she is a Princess she cannot
be approached in that way. At least she does not think so, and I have
to act as she has been told I should act, and not as I think I should.
After all, she is only a very beautiful girl, and she must be very
tired of her cousins and grandmothers, and of not being allowed to see
any one else. These royalties make a very picturesque show for the
rest of us, but indeed it seems rather hard on them. A hundred years
from now there will be no more kings and queens, and the writers of
that day will envy us, just as the writers of this day envy the men who
wrote of chivalry and tournaments, and the