other dictionary and pursued it for twelve minutes. Then she took
the column of "old Webster," which had been handed her pasted on a
piece of yellow paper, and set about attempting to commit it to
memory. She looked up to be met with the statement that Mrs. Marjory
Van Luce De Vane, after spending years under the so-called best
surgeons of the country, had been cured in six weeks by Dr.
Bunting's Famous Kidney and Bladder Cure. She pushed the
dictionaries petulantly from her, and leaning her very red cheek
upon her hand, her hazel eyes blurred with tears of perplexity and
resentment, her mouth drawn in pathetic little lines of uncertainty,
looked over at the sprawling warehouse on the opposite side of
Dearborn Street. She was just considering the direct manner of
writing one's resignation--not knowing how to infringe the
copyright--when a voice said: "I beg pardon, but I wonder if I can
help you any?"

She had never heard a voice like that before. Or, _had_ she
heard it?--and where? She looked at him, a long, startled gaze.
Something made her think of the voice the prince used to have in
long-ago dreams. She looked into a face that was dark and thin
and--different. Two very dark eyes were looking at her kindly, and a
mouth which was a baffling combination of things to be loved and
things to be deplored was twitching a little, as though it would
like to join the eyes in a smile, if it dared.

Because he saw both how funny and how hard it was, she liked him. It
would have been quite different had he seen either one without the
other.

"You can tell me how _not_ to infringe the copyright," she