Steinheimer enjoyed a most extended outlook. A door-window gave access
to a stone balcony, which hung against the castle wall like a swallow's
nest at the eaves of a house. This balcony was just wide enough to give
ample space for one of the easy rocking-chairs which the Princess had
imported from America, and which Jennie thought were the only really
comfortable pieces of furniture the old stronghold possessed, much as
she admired the artistic excellence of the mediaeval chairs, tables, and
cabinets which for centuries had served the needs of the ancient line
that had lived in the Schloss. The rocking-chair was as modern as this
morning's daily paper; its woodwork painted a bright scarlet, its arms
like broad shelves, its rockers as sensitively balanced as a marine
compass; in fact, just such a chair as one would find dotted round
the vast verandah of an American summer hotel. In this chair sat Miss
Jennie, two open letters on her lap, and perplexity in the dainty little
frown that faintly ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow. The scene
from the high balcony was one to be remembered; but, although this was
her last day at the Castle, the girl saw nothing of the pretty town of
Meran so far below; the distant chalk-line down the slope beyond which
marked the turbulent course of the foaming Adege; the lofty mountains
all around, or the further snow-peaks, dazzling white against the deep
blue of the sky.

One of the epistles which lay on her lap was the letter she had received
from the editor recounting the difficulties he had met with while
endeavouring to make arrangements for reporting adequately the Duchess
of Chiselhurst's ball; the other was the still unanswered invitation
from the Duchess to the Princess. Jennie was flattered to know that
already the editor, who had engaged her with unconcealed reluctance,
expected her to accomplish what the entire staff were powerless to
effect. She knew that, had she but the courage, it was only necessary to