upon him. They saw a young man bowing low over the unresisting hand he
had taken. His face was clear-cut and unmistakably English. Jennie saw
his closely-cropped auburn head, and, as it raised until it overtopped
her own, the girl, terrified as she was, could not but admire the
sweeping blonde moustache that overshadowed a smile, half-wistful,
half-humorous, which lighted up his handsome face. The ribbon of some
order was worn athwart his breast; otherwise he wore court dress, which
well became his stalwart frame.

"I am disconsolate to see that I am indeed forgotten, Princess, and so
another cherished delusion fades away from me."

Her fan concealed the lower part of the girl's face, and she looked at
him over its fleecy semicircle.

"Put not your trust in princesses," she murmured, a sparkle of latent
mischief lighting up her eyes.

The young man laughed. "Indeed," he said, "had I served my country as
faithfully as I have been true to my remembrance of you, Princess, I
would have been an ambassador long ere this, covered with decorations.
Have you then lost all recollection of that winter in Washington five
years ago; that whirlwind of gaiety which ended by wafting you away to a
foreign country, and thus the eventful season clings to my memory as
if it were a disastrous western cyclone? Is it possible that I must
re-introduce myself as Donal Stirling?"

"Not Lord Donal Stirling?" asked Jennie, dimly remembering that she had
heard this name in connection with something diplomatic, and her guess
that he was in that service was strengthened by his previous remark