she said,--there ran
the same half-mocking vein that left him quite unable even to fathom
her meaning. He muttered out something about "dress" and "smart things"
being to be found everywhere, and that most probably they should visit
even more pretentious cities than Brussels erelong.

"Which means that you know perfectly well where we are going, but
won't tell it. Well, I resign myself to my interesting part of 'Captive
Princess' all the more submissively, since every place is new to me,
every town an object of interest, every village a surprise."

"You 'd like to see the world,--the real, the great world, I mean?"
asked Beecher.

"Oh, how much!" cried she, clasping her hands in eagerness, as she
arose.

Beecher watched her as she walked up and down the room, every movement
of her graceful figure displaying dignity and pride, her small and
beautifully shaped head slightly thrown back, while, as her hand held
the folds of her dress, her march had something almost stage-like in its
sweeping haughtiness. "And how she would become it!" muttered he, below
his breath, but yet leaving the murmured sounds half audible.

"What are you saying, sir? Any disparaging sentiment on school-girl
conceit or curiosity?"

"Something very like the opposite," said Beecher. "I was whispering to
myself that Grantley House and Rocksley Castle were the proper sphere
for _you_."

"Are these very splendid?" asked she, calmly.

"The best houses in England. Of their owners, one is a Duke with two
hundred thousand a year, the other an Earl with nearly as much."

"And what do they do with it?"

"Everything; all that money can have--and what is there it cannot?--is
there. Gorgeous houses, horses, dress, dinners, pictures, plate, the
best people to visit them, the best cook, the best deer-park, the
fastest yacht at Cowes, the best hunting-stable at Melton."

"I should like that; it sounds very fascinating, all of it. How
it submerges at once, too, all the petty cares and contrivances,
perpetually asking, 'Can we do this?' 'Dare we do that?' It makes
existence the grand, bold, free thing one dreams it ought to be."

"You 're right there; it does make life very jolly."

"Are _you_ very rich?" asked she, abruptly.

"No, by Jove! poor as a church mouse," said he, laughing at the
strangeness of the question, whose sincere simplicity excluded all
notion of impertinence. "I'm what they call a younger son, which means
one who arrives in the w