search for amusement led him in the
same direction. They met him and his cousin, Captain Odo Wolfburgh, at
Oban, and again on the ramparts of Stirling Castle, and the very day
that they arrived in Edinburgh, there, in Holyrood, in Queen Mary's
chamber, stood the pursy little man, curling his mustache before her
mirror.

Mr. Perry fell into the background with Miss Hassard. "His Highness is
becoming monotonous!" he grumbled. "These foreigners never know when
they are superfluous in society."

"Is he superfluous?" Jean glanced to the corner where the prince and
Lucy were eagerly searching for the blood of Rizzio upon the steps.

"Decidedly," said Perry. "I wished to show you and Miss Dunbar a live
prince, and I did it. That is done and over with. He has been seen
and heard. There is no reason why he should pop up here and there all
over Great Britain like a Jack-in-the-box. He's becoming a bore."

"You suspect him to be an impostor?" said Jean quickly.

"No. He's genuine enough. But we don't want any foreigners in our
caravan," stroking his red beard complacently.

"No. What do you suppose is his object?" asked Jean, with one of her
quick, furtive glances.

Mr. Perry's jaws grew red as his beard. "How can I tell?" he said
gruffly. He went on irritably, a moment later: "Of course you see it.
The fellow has no delicacy. He makes no more secret of his plans than
if he were going to run down a rabbit. Last night at Stirling, over
his beer, he held forth upon the dimples on Miss Dunbar's pink elbows,
and asked me if her hair were all her own. I said, at last, that
American men did not value women like sheep by their flesh and fleece
and the money they were rated at in the market. I hit him square that
time, prince or no prince!"

"Yes, you did, indeed," said Jean vaguely. Her keen eyes followed Lucy
and the prince, who were loitering through the gallery, pausing before
the faded portraits. "You think it is only her money that draws him
after us?"

"Why, of course! A fellow like that could not appreciate Miss Dunbar's
beauty and wit."

"You think Lucy witty?" said Jean dryly. "And you think she would not
marry for a title?"

"I don't believe any pure American girl would sell herself, like a
sheep in the shambles! And she is pure! A lamb, a lily! cried Perry,
growing incoherent in his heat.

"She would not if her heart were preoccupied," said Jean thoughtfully.

"And you think----" he sa