ut "her love." Rose supposed that Mary
must have wanted some of her pretty things for an entertainment at the
Villa Mirasole. Prince Vanno had been away in Rome, but must be due, if
he had not already returned. Probably if Miss Maxwell went over to Cap
Martin in the morning she would see not only Mary but the Prince, who,
said Rose, "looked like a knight-errant or a reformer of the Middle
Ages, but, oh, so handsome and so young!"

"I thought when I first saw them together, the very evening of their
engagement," she added, "that there was something _fatal_ about them, as
if they were not born for ordinary, happy lives, like the rest of us.
But thank goodness, I seem to be mistaken. The course of their true love
runs so smoothly it almost ceases to be interesting."

XXXVIII

Jim Schuyler did not leave Stellamare next day. His butler-valet had the
pleasure of unpacking again. The motor was at Peter's service in the
morning, and soon after eleven she was driving through the beautiful
gateway of the Villa Mirasole.

Americo answered her ring, bowing politely, but one who knew the ruddy
brown face would have seen that he was not himself. In some stress of
emotion the man in him had got the better of the servant. His eyes were
round as an owl's as he informed the stranger that Miss Grant was no
longer at the villa. He even forgot to speak English, a sign with him of
deep mental disturbance.

"Where has Miss Grant gone?" Peter inquired, thinking the fellow an
idiot.

"I do not know, Mademoiselle."

"Then go and inquire, please."

"I regret, it is useless. No one in this house can tell where Mees Grant
is."

"You must be mistaken. I'll send my name to the Princess and ask her to
see a friend of Miss Grant's."

Americo's face quivered, and his eyes bulged. "Mademoiselle," he said,
"I do not think her Highness can see any one this morning. There
is--family trouble."

Peter still hesitated, determined somehow to get news of Mary. Could it
be that the engagement had been broken off? she asked herself. As she
stood wondering what to do, a tall young man flashed from an inner room
into the vestibule, seized a hat from a table, and without appearing to
see the butler, pushed past the distressed Americo. He would have passed
Peter also like a whirlwind, unconscious of her existence, had she not
called out sharply, "Is it Prince Giovanni Della Robbia?"

He wheeled abruptly as a soldier on drill, and stared sombrel