SOPHIE ZOBRASKA.

Paul leaned back in his chair, twiddling the letter between his
fingers, and looked smilingly out or, the grey autumn rack of
clouds. There was a pleasant and flattering intimacy in the
invitation: pleasant because it came from a pretty woman; flattering
because the woman was a princess, widow of a younger son of a Royal
Balkan house. She lived at Chetwood. Park, on the other side of
Morebury, and was one of the great ones of those latitudes. A real
princess.

Paul's glance, travelling back from the sky, fell upon the brass
date indicator on the table. It marked the 2nd of October. On that
day five years ago he had. entered on his duties at Drane's Court.
He laughed softly. Five years ago be was a homeless wanderer. Now
princesses were begging him to rescue them from Egyptologists. With
glorious sureness all his dreams were coming true.

Thus we see our Fortunate Youth at eight-and-twenty in the heyday of
success. If he had strutted about under Jane's admiring eyes, like a
peacock among daws, he now walked serene, a peacock among peacocks.
He wore the raiment, frequented the clubs, ate the dinners of the
undeservingly rich and the deservingly great. His charm and his
self-confidence, which a genius of tact saved from self-assertion,
carried him pleasantly through the social world; his sympathetic
intelligence dealt largely and strongly with the public affairs
under his control. He loved organizing, persuading, casting skilful
nets. His appeal for subscriptions was irresistible. He had the
magical gift of wringing a hundred pounds from a plutocrat with the
air of conferring a graceful favour. In aid of the Mission to