Arms and the Woman

"There is Mr. Wentworth. I wish to speak to him. Will you excuse me?"

"With pleasure!" laughed Pembroke.

I threaded my way through the gathering throng to the side of Mr.

Wentworth.

"How d'y' do, Winthrop?" he said, taking me by the arm. "Come into the

conservatory. I want you to see some of the finest orchids that ever

came from South America. The girls are looking well to-night. I

suppose you noticed."

"Especially Phyllis." Our eyes met.

When we entered the conservatory, he suddenly forgot all about the

orchids.

"Jack, I'm worried about her--Phyllis. You see, she is not my niece.

There's a long story, This morning a gentleman visited my department.

He was Prince Ernst of Wortumborg. He began by asking me if Phyllis

was my niece. That started the business. He proceeded to prove to me,

as far as possible, that Phyllis was a Princess. I could not say that

it was all nonsense, because I did not know. Some twenty years ago, a

strange thing happened. I occupied the same residence as to-day. It

was near midnight, and snowing fiercely. I was looking over some

documents, when the footman came in and announced the presence of a

strange woman in the hall, who demanded to see me. The woman was young

and handsome, and in her arms she carried a child. Would I, for

humanity's sake, give a roof to the child till the morrow? The woman

said that she was looking for her relatives, but as yet had not found

them, and that the night was too cold for the child to be carried

around. She was a nurse. The child was not hers, but belonged to a

wealthy family of the south, who were to have arrived that day, but had

not. The thing seemed so irregular that I at once consented, thinking

to scan the papers the next day for an account of a lost or stolen

child. She also carried a box which contained, she said, the child's

identity. Now, as I am a living man, there was nothing in that box to

show who the child was; nothing but clothes, not a jewel or a trinket.

I looked through the papers in vain. And the woman never appeared

again. Much against my will I was forced to keep the child. I am glad

I did, for I have grown to love her as one of my own. I had a married

sister who died in Carolina, so I felt secure in stating that Phyllis

was her daughter, therefore my niece. And that is positively all I

know. And here comes a fellow who says he knows who she is, and,

moreover, that she is a Princess. What do you say to that?"