sed to play.

She said never to mention them to anybody, and that I should never
permit anybody to examine those military papers, because it might be
harmful to America.

How odd and how thrilling! I am most curious to know what all this
means. It seems like an exciting story just beginning, and I wonder
what such a girl as I has to do with secrets which concern the Turkish
Charge in Paris.

Don't you think it promises to be romantic? Do you suppose it has
anything to do with spies and diplomacy and kings and thrones, and
terrible military secrets? One hears a great deal about the embassies
here being hotbeds of political intrigue. And of course France is
always thinking of Alsace and Lorraine, and there is an ever-present
danger of war in Europe.

Mr. Neeland, it thrills me to pretend to myself that I am actually
living in the plot of a romance full of mystery and diplomacy and
dangerous possibilities. I _hope_ something will develop, as something
always does in novels.

And alas, my imagination, which always has been vivid, needed almost
nothing to blaze into flame. It is on fire now; I dream of courts and
armies, and ambassadors, and spies; I construct stories in which I am
the heroine always--sometimes the interesting and temporary victim of
wicked plots; sometimes the all-powerful, dauntless, and adroit
champion of honour and righteousness against treachery and evil!

Did you ever suppose that I still could remain such a very little
girl? But I fear that I shall never outgrow my imagination. And it
needs almost nothing to set me dreaming out stories or drawing
pictures of castles and princes and swans and fairies. And even this
letter seems a part of some breathlessly interesting plot which I am
not only creating but actually a living part of and destined to act
in.

Do you want a part in it? Shall I include you? Rather late to ask your
permission, for I have already included you. And, somehow, I think the
Yellow Devil ought to be included, too.

Please write to me, just once. But don't speak of the papers which
father had, and don't mention Herr Conrad Wilner's box if you write.
The Princess says your letter might be stolen.

I am very happy. It is rather cold tonight, and presently Suzanne will
unhook me and I shall put on such a pretty negligee, and then curl up
in bed, turn on my reading light with the pink shade, and continue to
read the new novel recommended to me by Princess Naia, called "Le
Cri