s and shadows on her face, wondered what match had lit that
rosy fire.

Angela's first thought was that somehow she had been found out. Then she
remembered that the girls had seen the name in a newspaper. Also they had
been looking at Paolo's picture. And he _could_ be handsome--in a picture.
But of whom had they said, "She's handsome, too?" Could it be that her own
photograph had been published with Paolo's? If so, who had dared to
reproduce it, and why? What if Nick should come across the picture and
recognize the face as hers? She did not want him to know that she was the
Princess di Sereno until, for her own reasons and in her own time, she
should choose to tell him the story of her life. Once she had thought
there was no reason why he need ever know; that they would part, and she
would remain in his memory as Angela May. Now, however, she began to see
that the moment must come when she would not only need, but wish, to tell
him all, so that he might know why. But she never quite finished this
explanation in her mind. It was too fond of trying to finish itself
without waiting to be put into words.

She was a little frightened now, lest by chance there should be a
premature revelation, for in the rush to get away the girls dropped the
paper they had been reading. It lay on the veranda steps, and though the
cover was turned back, and only an advertisement page could be seen,
Angela discovered that it was the _Illustrated London News_.

Perhaps the page which lay face down was the page of the photograph. She
half longed, half dreaded that a flutter of wind or a passing foot might
turn the paper over. What could the girl have meant by saying, "I hope
they won't be killed?"

Could Angela have read Theo Dene's mind the day at Santa Barbara, this
picture and paragraph would have been less mysterious to her. "I wonder if
Mrs. May _knows about the Prince_?" Theo had asked herself.

"There's an English paper on the step," said Nick, following the direction
of her eyes. "Does it make you homesick? If it does, I'll put in a claim
to it. There may be time for you to glance it over before the right stage
turns up."

"No, no," said Angela, hastily. "I don't want the paper. And oh, look, it
says 'Sentinel' on this stage that's coming."

The next thing she knew, she was swaying between earth and heaven, over
heads that surged beneath her. Somehow, Nick had got that place on the box
seat, and he was beside her, resolutely help