ents he stopped in the midst of this employment, and told the
waiter, with some unnecessary sharpness, to bring him the last copy of
the St. James Budget.

"Confound it!" he added, to himself.

He opened the paper with a touch of impatience and gazed long and
earnestly at the face of the Princess Aline, who continued to return
his look with the same smile of amused tolerance. Carlton noted every
detail of her tailor-made gown, of her high mannish collar, of her tie,
and even the rings on her hand. There was nothing about her of which
he could fairly disapprove. He wondered why it was that she could not
have been born an approachable New York girl instead of a princess of a
little German duchy, hedged in throughout her single life, and to be
traded off eventually in marriage with as much consideration as though
she were a princess of a real kingdom.

"She looks jolly too," he mused, in an injured tone; "and so very
clever; and of course she has a beautiful complexion. All those German
girls have. Your Royal Highness is more than pretty," he said, bowing
his head gravely. "You look as a princess should look. I am sure it
was one of your ancestors who discovered the dried pea under a dozen
mattresses." He closed the paper, and sat for a moment with a
perplexed smile of consideration. "Waiter," he exclaimed, suddenly,
"send a messenger-boy to Brentano's for a copy of the St. James Budget,
and bring me the Almanach de Gotha from the library. It is a little
fat red book on the table near the window." Then Carlton opened the
paper again and propped it up against a carafe, and continued his
critical survey of the Princess Aline. He seized the Almanach, when it
came, with some eagerness.

"Hohenwald (Maison de Grasse)," he read, and in small type below it:

"1. Ligne cadette (regnante) grand-ducale: Hohenwald et de Grasse.

"Guillaume-Albert-Frederick-Charles-Louis, Grand-Duc de Hohenwald et de
Grasse, etc., etc., etc."

"That's the brother, right enough," muttered Carlton.

And under the heading "Soeurs" he read:

"4. Psse Aline.--Victoria-Beatrix-Louise-Helene, Alt. Gr.-Duc. Nee a
Grasse, Juin, 1872."

"Twenty-two years old," exclaimed Carlton. "What a perfect age! I
could not have invented a better one." He looked from the book to the
face before him. "Now, my dear young lady," he said, "I know all about
YOU. You live at Grasse, and you are connected, to judge by your
names, with all the En