in Thorberg would be brief and
certainly would lead up to something much better.

At the end of five months he was devoutly, even pathetically, hoping
that his uncle was no false prophet. He loathed Thorberg; he hated the
inhabitants; he smarted under the sting of royal disdain; he had no real
friends, no boon companions and he was obliged to be good! What wonder,
then, that the bored, suffering, vivacious Mr. Chase seized the first
opportunity to leap headforemost into the very thick of a most appalling
indiscretion!

When he first arrived in Thorberg to assume his sluggish duties he was
not aware of the fact that the Grand Duke had an unmarried daughter, the
Princess Genevra. Nor, upon learning that the young lady existed, was he
particularly impressed; the royal princesses he had been privileged to
look upon were not remarkable for their personal attractiveness: he
forthwith established Genevra in what he considered to be her proper
sphere.

She was visiting in St. Petersburg or Berlin or some other place--he
gave it no thought at the time--when he reached his post of duty, and it
was toward the end of his fifth month before she returned to her
father's palace in Thorberg. He awoke to the importance of the occasion,
and took some slight interest in the return of the royal young
lady--even going so far as to follow the crowd to the railway station on
the sunny June afternoon. His companions were two young fellows from the
English bank and a rather agreeable attache of the French Government.

He saw the Princess for the first time that afternoon, and he was bowled
over, to use the expression of his English friends with whom he dined
that night. She was the first woman that he had ever looked upon that he
could describe, for she was the only one who had impressed him to that
extent. This is how he pictured her at the American legation in Paris a
few weeks later:

"Ever see her? Well, you've something to live for, gentlemen. I've seen
her but three times and I don't seem able to shake off the spell. Her
sisters, you know--the married ones--are nothing to look at, and the
Grand Duke isn't a beauty by any means. How the deuce she happens to
produce such a contrast I can't, for the life of me, understand. Nature
does some marvellous things, by George, and she certainly spread herself
on the Princess Genevra. You've never seen such hair. 'Gad, it's as near
like the kind that Henner painted as anything human could be, e