e dragged up
the face of the mighty pyramids, and with varying emotions they
contemplated the time-eaten features of the inscrutable Sphinx.

The two women derived much enjoyment from their little jaunts. Sometimes
they were escorted by Mr. Fitzhugh, who, despairing of making any
headway with Mrs. Phelps now that his detested German rival, Count von
Hatzfeld, had contrived to monopolize the widow, had begun to dance
attendance upon Grace. He knew she had money in her own right, and his
mouth watered at the magnitude of her expectations. There seemed no
reason why the Harmon millions should not be as usefully employed in
regilding the dilapidated Fitzhugh coat-of-arms as those of the late Mr.
Phelps. But he did not make much progress, and he had a vague
premonition that he was not the kind of chap to appeal to this cold,
proud beauty. Discreet conversations on the subject with Mrs. Stuart
went far to discourage him altogether.

"Grace does not expect to love the man she will marry, so her utter
indifference does not reflect her feelings to you in the least," said
that perspicacious student of modern femininity. This statement was not
exactly true, but it served the purpose of the moment. "Even if she
considered you a desirable match," she went on, "she would not be any
more unbending. That indifferent, independent manner is her chief charm.
It is the stateliness of the lily. Grace might marry you, but she would
not love you. She is too much up to date to believe there is any such
thing as love. Self-interest governs the world to-day--not love, which,
after all, is only a primitive, vulgar emotion. Girls who want to marry
well understand this thoroughly. Love and lovers are very delightful in
fiction, but no sensible girl to-day takes them into account when
planning her future welfare. When Grace does change her name, it will be
to take that of one of the proudest families in Europe. Surely you know
that she's already as good as engaged to Prince Sergius of Eurasia! As
far as titles are concerned, that's going some!"

"But I may be a peer one day," protested Mr. Fitzhugh.

"You may be, but you're not," retorted Mrs. Stuart. "Your father, the
earl, is still alive, and your elder brother is aggressively healthy.
American girls do not deal in futures."

The Englishman took the hint, and, profiting by a temporary
indisposition of Count von Hatzfeld, returned to the siege of the
fascinating Mrs. Phelps, whose millions wer