wers," said the Duke.

"You call that important!" cried Germaine.

"It's very important--like all trifles," said the Duke, smiling. "Look!
isn't it nice?" And he took a photograph from his pocket, and held it
out to her.

"Nice? It's shocking! We're making the most appalling faces," said
Germaine, looking at the photograph in his hand.

"Well, perhaps you ARE making faces," said the Duke seriously,
considering the photograph with grave earnestness. "But they're not
appalling faces--not by any means. You shall be judge, Mademoiselle
Sonia. The faces--well, we won't talk about the faces--but the
outlines. Look at the movement of your scarf." And he handed the
photograph to Sonia.

"Jacques!" said Germaine impatiently.

"Oh, yes, you've something important to tell me. What is it?" said the
Duke, with an air of resignation; and he took the photograph from Sonia
and put it carefully back in his pocket.

"Victoire has telephoned from Paris to say that we've had a paper-knife
and a Louis Seize inkstand given us," said Germaine.

"Hurrah!" cried the Duke in a sudden shout that made them both jump.

"And a pearl necklace," said Germaine.

"Hurrah!" cried the Duke.

"You're perfectly childish," said Germaine pettishly. "I tell you we've
been given a paper-knife, and you shout 'hurrah!' I say we've been
given a pearl necklace, and you shout 'hurrah!' You can't have the
slightest sense of values."

"I beg your pardon. This pearl necklace is from one of your father's
friends, isn't it?" said the Duke.

"Yes; why?" said Germaine.

"But the inkstand and the paper-knife must be from the Faubourg
Saint-Germain, and well on the shabby side?" said the Duke.

"Yes; well?"

"Well then, my dear girl, what are you complaining about? They balance;
the equilibrium is restored. You can't have everything," said the Duke;
and he laughed mischievously.

Germaine flushed, and bit her lip; her eyes sparkled.

"You don't care a rap about me," she said stormily.

"But I find you adorable," said the Duke.

"You keep annoying me," said Germaine pettishly. "And you do it on
purpose. I think it's in very bad taste. I shall end by taking a
dislike to you--I know I shall."

"Wait till we're married for that, my dear girl," said the Duke; and he
laughed again, with a blithe, boyish cheerfulness, which deepened the
angry flush in Germaine's cheeks.

"Can't you be serious about anything?" she cried.

"I am the most serious man in