ngly. "I did not do wrong to confide in you," he said.
"It was perhaps taking a liberty; but as you have not considered it as
such, I am glad I spoke."

"But you don't really mean to tell me," exclaimed the girl, facing
about, and nodding her head at him, "that you are going abroad after a
woman whom you have never seen, and because you like a picture of her
in a paper?"

"I do," said Carlton. "Because I like her picture, and because she is
a Princess."

"Well, upon my word," said Miss Morris, gazing at him with evident
admiration, "that's what my younger brother would call a distinctly
sporting proposition. Only I don't see," she added, "what her being a
Princess has to do with it."

"You don't?" laughed Carlton, easily. "That's the best part of
it--that's the plot. The beauty of being in love with a Princess, Miss
Morris," he said, "lies in the fact that you can't marry her; that you
can love her deeply and forever, and nobody will ever come to you and
ask your intentions, or hint that after such a display of affection you
ought to do something. Now, with a girl who is not a Princess, even if
she understands the situation herself, and wouldn't marry you to save
her life, still there is always some one--a father, or a mother, or one
of your friends--who makes it his business to interfere, and talks
about it, and bothers you both. But with a Princess, you see, that is
all eliminated. You can't marry a Princess, because they won't let
you. A Princess has got to marry a real royal chap, and so you are
perfectly ineligible and free to sigh for her, and make pretty speeches
to her, and see her as often as you can, and revel in your devotion and
unrequited affection."

Miss Morris regarded him doubtfully. She did not wish to prove herself
too credulous. "And you honestly want me, Mr. Carlton, to believe that
you are going abroad just for this?"

"You see," Carlton answered her, "if you only knew me better you would
have no doubt on the subject at all. It isn't the thing some men would
do, I admit, but it is exactly what any one who knows me would expect
of me. I should describe it, having had acquaintance with the young
man for some time, as being eminently characteristic. And besides,
think what a good story it makes! Every other man who goes abroad this
summer will try to tell about his travels when he gets back to New
York, and, as usual, no one will listen to him. But they will HAVE to
listen to m