Shortly before six o'clock--dinner in the palace was rarely served

until half-after eight--the Honorable Betty sat down to her

writing-desk in her boudoir, which opened directly into that belonging

to the princess, to write a few letters home. A dinner was to be given

to the state officials that night, and she knew from experience that

after that solemn event was concluded it would be too late for the

departing mails. She seemed to have no difficulty in composing her

thoughts and transferring them to paper. There were times when she

would lean back, nibble the end of her pen and smile in a dreamy,

retrospective fashion. No doubt her thoughts were pleasant and

agreeable.

She had completed addressing three envelopes, when she heard the door

leading into the princess' boudoir open and close. She turned to

behold the princess herself.

"Why, Gretchen, where are you going?"--noting the grey walking-dress,

the grey hat, the sensible square-toed shoes.

"I am going to visit a sick nurse," replied her Highness, avoiding the

other's eye.

"But shall you have time to dress for dinner?"

"That depends. Besides, the official dinners are a great bore." Her

Highness came forward, caught the dark head of the English girl between

her gloved hands, pressed it against her heart, bent and kissed it.

"What a lovely girl you are, Betty! always unruffled, always

even-tempered. You will grow old very gracefully."

"I hope so; but I do not want to grow old at all. Can't I go with

you?"--eagerly.

"Impossible; etiquette demands your presence here to-night. If I am

late my rank and my errand will be my excuse. What jolly times we used

to have in that quaint old boarding-school in St. John's Wood! Do you

remember how we went to your noble father's country place one

Christmas? I went _incognita_. There was a children's party, and two

boys had a fisticuff over you. Nobody noticed me those days. I was

happy then." The princess frowned. It might have been the sign of

repression of tears. Betty, with her head against the other's bosom,

could not see. "I shall be lonely without you; for you can not stay on

here for ever. If you could, it would be different. I shall miss you.

Somehow you possess the faculty of calming me. I am so easily stirred

into a passion; my temper is so surface-wise. Some day, however, I

shall come to England and spend a whole month with you. Will not that

be fine?"

"How melancholy your voice is!" cried Betty, trying without avail to

remove her Highness' hands.

"No, no; I want to hold you just so. Perhaps I am sentimental

to-night. I have all the moods, agreeable and disagreeable. . . . Do

you love anybody?"




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