night-bell pulled. And that night I was seated on the throne of
the S'helpburgs. As I gazed at the Princess Flirtia, glowing in
the characteristic beauty of the S'helpburgs, and admired her
striking profile, I murmured softly and half audibly: "Her nose is
as a tower that looketh toward Damascus."

She looked puzzled, and knitted her pretty brows. "Is that
poetry?" she asked.

"No" I said promptly. "It's only part of a song of our great
Ancestor." As she blushed slightly, I playfully flung around her
fair neck the jeweled collar of the Order of the S'helpburgs--three
golden spheres pendant, quartered from the arms of Lombardy---with
the ancient Syric motto, El Ess Dee.

She toyed with it a moment, and then said softly: "You have
changed, Rupert. Do ye no ken hoo?"

I looked at her--as surprised at her dialect as at the imputation.

"You don't talk that way, as you did. And you don't say, 'It WILL
be twelve o'clock,' when you mean, 'It IS twelve o'clock,' nor 'I
will be going out,' when you mean 'I AM.' And you didn't say, 'Eh,
sirs!' or 'Eh, mon,' to any of the Court--nor 'Hoot awa!' nor any
of those things. And," she added with a divine little pout, "you
haven't told me I was 'sonsie' or 'bonnie' once."

I could with difficulty restrain myself. Rage, indignation, and
jealousy filled my heart almost to bursting. I understood it all;
that rascally Scotchman had made the most of his time, and dared to