princess."

Mrs. March started with proud conjecture of one of those noble
international marriages which fill our women with vainglory for such of
their compatriots as make them.

"Oh, come now, Lili!" said Burnamy. "We have queens in America, but
nothing so low as princesses. This was a queen, wasn't it?"

She referred the case to her hireling, who confirmed her. "All people say
it is princess," she insisted.

"Well, if she's a princess we must look her up after breakfast," said
Burnamy. "Where is she sitting?"

She pointed at a corner so far off on the other side that no one could be
distinguished, and then was gone, with a smile flashed over her shoulder,
and her hireling trying to keep up with her.

"We're all very proud of Lili's having a hired man," said Burnamy. "We
think it reflects credit on her customers."

March had begun his breakfast with-the voracious appetite of an
early-rising invalid. "What coffee!"

He drew a long sigh after the first draught.

"It's said to be made of burnt figs," said Burnamy, from the
inexhaustible advantage of his few days' priority in Carlsbad.