er dying at home, and our fair young
Princess dances gaily to celebrate a small Italian victory!"

"You forget what's happened to-night, Sir Jim, when you speak of your
'_surviving_' female relatives," said the woman.

"By George, yes! I've got but one left now. And I expect, from what I
hear, I shall be called upon to support her!"

Then Grandmother was dead!--wonderful, indomitable Grandmother, who,
only three hours ago, had said, "You _must_ go to this dance, Elizabeth.
I wish it!" Grandmother, whose last words had been, "You are worthy to
be what I've made you: a Princess. You are exactly what I was at your
age."

Poor, magnificent Grandmother! She had often told me that she was the
greatest beauty of her day. She had sent me away from her to-night, so
that she might die alone. Or--had the news of the _other_ blow come
while I was gone, and killed her?

Dazedly I stumbled to my feet, and in a second I should have pushed past
the pair; but, just at this moment, footsteps came hurrying along the
path. Those two moved out of the way with some murmured words I didn't
catch: and then, the Marchese was with me again. I saw his plump figure
silhouetted on the silvered blue dusk of moonlight. He had brought no
ice! He flung out empty hands in a despairing gesture which told that he
also _knew_.

"My dear child--my poor little Princess----" he began in Italian; but I
cut him short.

"I've heard some people talking. Grandmother is dead. And--Paolo?"

"His plane crashed. It was instant death--not painful. Alas, the
telegram came to your hotel, and the Signora, your grandmother, opened
it. Her maid found it in her hand. The brave spirit had fled! Mr.
Carstairs, her solicitor, and his kind American wife came here at once.
How fortunate was the business which brought him to Rome just now,
looking after your interests! A search-party was seeking me, while I
sought a mere ice! And now the Carstairs wait to take you to your hotel.
I cannot leave our guests, or I would go with you, too."

He got me back to the old palazzo by a side door, and guided me to a
quiet room where the Carstairs sat. They were not alone. An American
friend of the ex-cowboy was with them--(another self-made millionaire,
but a _much_ better made one, of the name of Roger Fane)--and with him a
school friend of mine he was in love with, Lady Shelagh Leigh. Shelagh
ran to me with her arms out, but I pushed her aside. A darling girl, and
I wouldn't have