queen's may afford to be when, of her own will, she makes a royal
concession.

"Yes, I shall breakfast with you, _mon cher_ brother," she replied. Then
she added with perfect mimicry of his own overbearing voice, "It's a
trifle whether I breakfast in bed or not. It is vital that you remember
who is mistress of this house. _C'est moi!_"

A moment later, the man whose frown carried punishment for his
adversaries and whose smile was so frank and winning for his friends,
stood before his sister, watching her eyes as eagerly as a schoolboy
while he opened the satin case and held out to her the string of pearls.

"Mary," he said simply, "I'm not a man that curries favor with women.
Paul looks after that gentle art for this family. You are the only girl
I care about. When I give presents to a woman, it will be to you. There
is no other woman in New York who could wear that rope of pearls and not
look as if the pearls were wearing her. On your throat they are what
jewels should always be--a subordinate decoration; partly eclipsed
stars. I thought you might like them."

She took the gift and raised it to the light, while her eyes kindled and
her lips parted in delight, and as she looked at the pearls, her brother
looked at her.

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" she exclaimed and as she gazed at
their well-matched perfection a glow kindled in her cheeks.

"With such gifts," she murmured softly, "you could buy the souls of many
women, _mon cher_. If you insist on being a master, at least, you are a