assador, who was hovering near, waiting to speak to his host, "The
Duke of Chiselhurst has some doubt that the lady who has just departed
is the Princess von Steinheimer. You spoke with her, and can therefore
decide with authority, for his Grace seems disinclined to accept my
testimony."

"Not the Princess? Nonsense. I know her very well indeed, and a most
charming lady she is. I hope to be her guest again before many months
are past."

"There, my Lord Duke, you see everything is as it should be. If you will
give me that stupid telegram, I will make some quiet inquiries about it.
Meanwhile, the less said the better. I will see the American Ambassador
and convince him of his error. And now I must make what excuses I can to
the Princess for my desertion of her."

Placing the telegram in his pocket, he hurried down the stair and out to
the street. There had been some delay about the coming of the carriage,
and he saw the lady he sought, at that moment entering it.

"Home at once as fast as you can," he heard her say to the coachman. She
had evidently no intention of waiting for him. He sprang forward, thrust
his arm through the carriage window, and grasped her hand.

"Princess," he cried, "you will not leave me like this. I must see you
to-morrow."

"No, no," she gasped, shrinking into the corner of the carriage.

"You cannot be so cruel. Tell me at least where a letter will reach you.
I shall not release your hand until you promise."

With a quick movement the girl turned back the gauntlet of her long
glove; the next instant the carriage was rattling down the street, while
a chagrined young man stood alone on the kerb with a long, slender white
glove in his hand.

"By Jove!" he said at last, as he folded it carefully and placed it
in the pocket of his coat. "It is the glove this time, instead of the
slipper!"

CHAPTER IX. JENNIE REALIZES THAT GREAT EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEHIND.

Jennie Baxter reached her hotel as quickly as a fast pair of horses
could take her. She had succeeded; yet a few rebellious tears of
disappointment trickled down her cheeks now that she was alone in the
semi-darkness of the carriage. She thought of the eager young man left
standing disconsolately on the kerb, with her glove dangling in his
hand, and she bitterly regretted that unkind fortune had made it
possible for her to meet him only under false pretences. One consolation
was that he had no clue to her identity, and she