intelligence. So I am compelled, perforce, to scribble such
jingles as I am ashamed to read, because I must write
_something_. . . ." Paul Vanderhoffen shrugged, and continued, in tones
more animated: "There will be no talk of any grand-duke. Instead,
there will be columns of denunciation and tittle-tattle in every
newspaper--quite as if you, a baronet's daughter, had run away with a
footman. And you will very often think wistfully of Lord Brudenel's
fine house when your only title is--well, Princess of Grub Street, and
your realm is a garret. And for a while even to-morrow's breakfast
will be a problematical affair. It is true Lord Lansdowne has promised
me a registrarship in the Admiralty Court, and I do not think he will
fail me. But that will give us barely enough to live on--with strict
economy, which is a virtue that neither of us knows anything about. I
beg you to remember that--you who have been used to every luxury! you
who really were devised that you might stand beside an emperor and set
tasks for him. In fine, you know----"

And Mildred Claridge said, "I know that, quite as I observed, man
proposes--when he has been sufficiently prodded by some one who,
because she is an idiot--And that is why I am not blushing--very
much----"

"Your coloring is not--repellent." His high-pitched pleasant voice, in
spite of him, shook now with more than its habitual suggestion of a
stutter. "What have you done to me, my dear?" he said. "Why can't I
jest at this . . . as I have always done at everything----?"

"Boy, boy!" she said; "laughter is excellent. And wisdom too is
excellent. Only I think that you have laughed too much, and I have
been too shrewd--But now I know that it is better to be a princess in
Grub Street than to figure at Ranelagh as a good-hearted fool's latest
purchase. For Lord Brudenel is really very good-natured," she argued,
"and I did like him, and mother was so set upon it--and he was
rich--and I honestly thought----"

"And now?" he said.

"And now I know," she answered happily.

They looked at each other for a little while. Then he took her hand,
prepared in turn for self-denial.

"The _Household Review_ wants me to 'do' a series on famous English
bishops," he reported, humbly. "I had meant to refuse, because it
would all have to be dull High-Church twaddle. And the _English
Gentleman_ wants some rather outrageous lying done in defense of the
Corn Laws. You would not despise