t Miss Dunbar back and established her in her own house
near Weir, under the care of a deaf widowed aunt. Dunbar Place was a
stately colonial house, set in a large demesne, and all Kent County
waited breathless to know what revelations the heiress would make to
it, in the way of equi-pages, marqueterie furniture, or Paris gowns.

Mrs. Waldeaux found Lucy one day, a month after her arrival, seated at
her sewing on the broad, rose-covered piazza, looking as if she never
had left it.

"Have you come to stay now, my dear," she said, "or will Prince
Wolfburgh----"

"Oh, that is an old story," interrupted Clara. "Lucy handed the little
prince over to Jean Hassard, who married him after he had a long fight
with her father about her dot. He won the dot, but Count Odo is now
the head of the house. Jean, I hear, is in Munich fighting her way up
among the Herrschaft."

"Jean has good fighting qualities," Lucy said. "She will win."

"I had a letter from her to-day," said Miss Vance. "Here it is. She
says, 'I mean to rebuild the Schloss, and I have put a stop to the
soap-boiling business. I will have no fumes of scorching fat in our
ancestral halls. Four of the princesses live with us here in the flat.
Gussy Carson from Pond City is staying with me now. We have an
American tea every Wednesday. Gus receives with me.'"

"Poor princesses!" said Lucy.

Miss Vance folded the letter with a complacent nod. "I am glad that
Jean is settled so satisfactorily," she said. "As for Lucy----"

No one answered. Lucy threaded her needle.

"I start next week to Chicago, did you know, Frances? The Bixbys--two
orphan heiresses--wish me to take them to Australia, coming back by
India. And I suppose," she said, rising impatiently, "if I were to
stay away forty years I should find Lucy when I came back, with white
hair maybe, but sitting calmly sewing, not caring whether there was a
man in the world or not!"

Lucy laughed, but did not even blush.

Mrs. Waldeaux presently said good-by, and Clara went home with her to
spend the night. Lucy was left alone upon the piazza. It was there
that George Waldeaux saw her again.

This had been the hardest day of his life. He rose that morning
telling himself with an oath that he would earn the money to buy his
own food or never eat again. His mother had sent him a cheque by post.
He tore it up and went out of his cheap lodging-house without
breakfast. There was a queer change in