accept the invitation in the name of her present hostess, and attend the
great society function as Princess von Steinheimer. Yet she hesitated,
not so much on account of the manifest danger of discovery, but because
she had grown to like the Princess, and this impersonation, if it came
to the knowledge of the one most intimately concerned, as it was almost
sure to do, would doubtless be regarded as an unpardonable liberty. As
she swayed gently back and forth in the gaudy rocking-chair, she thought
of confessing everything to the Princess and asking her assistance; but
pondering on this, she saw that it was staking everything on one throw
of the dice. If the Princess refused, then the scheme became impossible,
as that lady herself would answer the letter of the Duchess and decline
the invitation. Jennie soothed her accusing conscience by telling
herself that this impersonation would do no harm to Princess von
Steinheimer, or to anyone else for that matter, while it would be of
inestimable assistance to her own journalistic career. From that
she drifted to meditation on the inequalities of this life--the
superabundance which some possess, while others, no less deserving, have
difficulty in obtaining the scant necessities. And this consoling train
of thought having fixed her resolve to take the goods the gods scattered
at her feet, or rather threw into her lap, she drew a long sigh of
determination as there came a gentle tap at the door of her room, and
the voice of the Princess herself said, "May I come in?"

Jennie, a rapid blush flaming her cheeks, sprang to her feet, flung the
letters on a table, and opened the door.

The visitor entered, looking attractive enough to be a princess of
fairyland, and greeted Miss Baxter most cordially.

"I am so sorry you are leaving," she said. "Cannot you be persuaded to