uckle at birth. Good old Terry!
Even he was not above taking a neat revenge; and the Prince's face
showed _how_ neat it was. Could it be possible that the estate in
Dalmatia which carried with it a title, had any resemblance to Claude
Melnotte's in that "sweet" play, "The Lady of Lyons?" I could scarcely
believe that, much as I would have liked to; but it was clear he would
have preferred to have the American millionairess take the beauties of
her new possessions for granted.

"Oh, I have made up my mind already. I made it up before we arrived
here," said the Countess.

"She made it up in the train coming from Paris," corrected Beechy,
"because she had to decide what name to register, and whether she'd have
the crown put on her handkerchiefs and her baggage. But she had to cable
to our lawyer in Denver before she could get money enough to pay what
the Prince wanted in advance, and the answer only came back this
morning."

"And what does the lawyer say?" asked the Prince, flushing, and with a
strained playfulness contradicted by the eager light in his eyes.

"Just guess," said Beechy, all her imps in high glee.

"Lawyers are such dry-as-dust persons," remarked His Highness, hastily
lifting his glass to toss off the last of the Romanee Conti. "If he is a
wise man who studies his client's interests, he could not advise Madame
against taking a step by which she ascends to a height so advantageous,
but--"

"Oh, he said yes," cried Mrs. Kidder, clinging to her Countesshood.

"And he put after it, 'If you will be a fool,'" added Beechy. "But he'll
have to pay for that part of the cable himself."

"He is my late husband's cousin," explained Mrs. Kidder, "and he takes
liberties sometimes, as he thinks Simon would not have approved of
everything I do. But you needn't tell _everything_, Beechy."

"Let's talk about Venice," said Miss Destrey with a lovely smile, which
seemed all the more admirable as she had given us so few. "I have always
longed to see Venice."

"But you didn't want to come abroad, you can't say you did," remarked
Beechy the irrepressible, resenting her cousin's interference, as a
naughty boy resents being torn from the cat to whose tail he has been
tying a tin can. "And I know _why_ you didn't!" She too had a taste for
revenge!

Miss Destrey blushed--I wondered why; and so, no doubt, did Terry
wonder. (Had she by chance been sent abroad to forget an unfortunate
attachment?)

"You wanted to stay wi