concert the week before. Chase's look of despair was instantly banished
by the recollection that the Princess had bestowed unqualified approval
on the previous occasion. Hence, if she enjoyed it, he was determined to
be pleased.

Again the dapper director came forward to lead the musicians, and again
he was most enthusiastically received. His uniform fairly sparkled with
the thrill of vanity, which seemed to burst from every seam; his sword
clanked madly against his nimble legs as he bowed and scraped his
grateful recognition of the honour. This time Chase was not where he
could watch the Princess; he found, therefore, that he could devote his
attention to the music and the popular conductor. He was amazed to find
that the fellow seemed to be inspired; he was also surprised to find
himself carried away by the fervour of the moment.

With the final crash of the orchestra, he found himself shouting again
with the others; oddly, this time he was as mad as they. A score or more
of surprised, disapproving eyes were turned upon him when he yelled
"Encore!"

"There will be no encore," admonished the fair girl at his side, kindly.
"It is not New York," she added, with a sly smile.

Ten minutes later, Chase and the Englishman were lighting their cigars
in an obscure corner of the gardens, off in the shadows where the circle
of light spent itself among the trees.

"Extraordinarily beautiful," Chase murmured reflectively, as he seated
himself upon the stone railing along the drive.