erous in
your selection of potentates, be generous, then, with me, a benighted
royalist, who craves leniency of one who may some day be President of
the United States."

"Granted, without discussion. As possible, though not probable,
President of the United States, I am magnanimous to an unfortunate who
can never hope to be princess, no matter how well she might grace the
gilded throne."

She greeted this glowing remark with a smile so intoxicating that he
felt himself the most favored of men. He saw that smile in his mind's
eye for months afterward, that maddening sparkle of joy, which flashed
from her eyes to the very bottom of his heart, there to snuggle forever
with Memory's most priceless treasures. Their dinner was but one more
phase of this fascinating dream. More than once he feared that he was
about to awake to find bleak unhappiness where exquisite joy had reigned
so gloriously. As it drew to an end a sense of depression came over him.
An hour at most was all that he could have with her. Nine o'clock
was drawing nigh with its regrets, its longings, its desolation. He
determined to retain the pleasures of the present until, amid the
clanging of bells and the roll of car wheels, the dismal future began.
His intention to accompany them to the station was expressed as they
were leaving the table. She had begun to say good-by to him when
he interrupted, self-consciousness forcing the words hurriedly and
disjointedly from his lips:

"You will let me go to the station with you. I shall--er--deem it a
pleasure."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, but thanked him and said she would
consider it an honor. His face grew hot and his heart cold with the
fancy that there was in her eyes a gleam which said: "I pity you, poor
fellow."

Notwithstanding his strange misgiving and the fact that his pride had
sustained quite a perceptible shock, he drove with them to the station.
They went to the sleeping car a few minutes before the time set for the
train's departure, and stood at the bottom of the steps, uttering the
good-bys, the God-speeds and the sincere hope that they might meet
again. Then came the sharp activity of the trainmen, the hurry of
belated passengers. He glanced soberly at his watch.

"It is nine o'clock. Perhaps you would better get aboard," he said, and
proceeded to assist Aunt Yvonne up the steps. She turned and pressed his
hand gently before passing into the car.

"Adieu, good friend. You have made i