said I, "I do; that's why I am encouraged to ask for more."

"What a paragon of modesty!" she mocked.

I passed it by. "And the dance?" I asked.

"I shall dance no more to-night," she said. Then we reached the door
and found the small room crowded with officials and dignitaries. The
Princess halted sharply. "But you may take me for a turn on the
terrace," she concluded.

As we crossed the wide floor the crowd fell back,--but Dehra gave no
greeting to anyone, though she must have known all eyes were upon us.
Yet, to give her due credit, she seemed as unconscious of it as if we
were alone in the room. As for me, I admit I was acutely conscious of
it, and the walk to the door seemed endless. I must have shown my
relief when it was over, for the Princess looked up with a smile.

"That's your first trial as one of the Blood," she said.

"There are compensations," I answered.

She ignored the point. "They are very few."

"Sometimes, one would be ample."

Again she evaded. "Yes, the privilege to be as free as the lowest
subject," she answered, instantly.

"Pure theory," I said. "The lowest subject would think you mad."

"I would gladly exchange places," she said.

"Don't make any of them the offer."

"No--out of regard for my Father I won't."

"It's a great thing to be a Princess Royal," I ventured.

"Oh, I dare say--to those who care for great things."

"Who do not?"

"I don't. At least I think I don't."

"You would think so only until you were not the Princess Royal."

"That may be; but, as I am the Princess Royal and cannot well change my
birthright, I don't see how I am to get the chance to think otherwise."

"It's better to think you do not like great things when you have them,
than to like them and not have them."

"You make it only a choice of unhappinesses," she said.

"I make it only life."

"You are too young to be pessimistic," she said.

"And you are too fortunate in life to be unhappy," I answered.

"But you said life was but a choice of unhappinesses."

"Only to the discontented."

"Oh!" said she. "Instead of a pessimist you are a philosopher."

"I sincerely trust I'm neither."

"So do I, cousin," she laughed, "if we are to be friends. I don't like
philosophers; which is natural, doubtless; and as a pessimist I prefer
no rival."

"Which is also natural," I added. "And I promise not to interfere with
your prerogative nor do the Socrates act again."

"_Entre nous