to be somewhat carried away by glitter. A great
ball-room, brilliant illumination, music, flowers, and diamonds had an
effect upon her which she enjoyed in anticipation. Her eyes gleamed
brightly on reading the mere card of invitation. Some dull and
self-contained men are only to be roused by the clatter and whirl of a
battle-field, and this stirs them into brilliancy, changing them to new
men. Etta, always brilliant, always bright, exceeded herself on her
battle-field--a great social function.

Since their marriage she had never been so beautiful, her eyes had never
been so sparkling, her color so brilliant as at this moment when she
asked her husband to let her use her title. Hers was the beauty that
blooms not for one man alone, but for the multitude; that feeds not on
the love of one, but on the admiration of many. The murmur of the man in
the street who turned and stared into her carriage was more than the
devotion of her husband.

"A foreign title," answered Paul, "is nothing in England. I soon found
that out at Eton and at Trinity. It was impossible there. I dropped it,
and I have never taken it up again."

"Yes, you old stupid, and you have never taken the place you are
entitled to, in consequence."

"What place? May I button that?"

"Thanks."

She held out her arm while he, with fingers much too large for such
dainty work, buttoned her glove.

"The place in society," she answered.

"Oh; does that matter? I never thought of it."

"Of course it matters," answered the lady, with an astonished little
laugh. (It is wonderful what an importance we attach to that which has
been dearly won.) "Of course it matters," answered Etta; "more
than--well, more than any thing."

"But the position that depends upon a foreign title cannot be of much
value," said the pupil of Karl Steinmetz.

Etta shook her pretty head reflectively.

"Of course," she answered, "money makes a position of its own, and
every-body knows that you are a prince; but it would be nicer, with the
servants and every-body, to be a princess."

"I am afraid I cannot do it," said Paul.

"Then there is some reason for it," answered his wife, looking at him
sharply.

"Yes, there is."

"Ah!"

"The reason is the responsibility that attaches to the very title you
wish to wear."

The lady smiled, a little scornfully perhaps.

"Oh! Your grubby old peasants, I suppose," she said.

"Yes. You remember, Etta, what I told you before we were marr