little Foreign Office clerk, she might have been a baroness, but she put
the smaller honor aside and aspired to a prince. Behind the gay smile
there must have been a quick and resourceful brain, daring to scheme,
intrepid in execution. Within the fair breast there must have been a
heart resolute, indomitable, devoid of weak scruple. Mark the last. It
is the scruple that keeps the reader and his humble servant from being
greater men than they are.

"Yes," says Etta, allowing Paul to take her perfectly gloved hand in his
great, steady grasp; "yes, I have my answer ready."

They were alone in the plashy solitude of an inner conservatory, between
the songs of the great singers. She was half afraid of this strong man,
for he had strange ways with him--not uncouth, but unusual and somewhat
surprising in a finnicking, emotionless generation.

"And what is it?" whispers Paul eagerly. Ah! what fools men are--what
fools they always will be!

Etta gave a little nod, looking shamefacedly down at the pattern of her
lace fan.

"Is that it?" he asked breathlessly.

The nod was repeated, and Paul Howard Alexis was thereby made the
happiest man in England. She half expected him to take her in his arms,
despite the temporary nature of their solitude. Perhaps she half wished
it; for behind her business-like and exceedingly practical appreciation
of his wealth there lurked a very feminine curiosity and interest in his
feelings--a curiosity somewhat whetted by the manifold differences that