the table and look
at them with me?"

Beryl blinked knowingly at Robin as much as to say: "Isn't that just
what an exiled Queen would be doing?" The prints were rare and
exceedingly lovely and Robin noticed that they had come from a New York
gallery. Their hostess told them of some of the quaint cathedral towns
and the stories of the cathedrals themselves. Robin, who had an
inherited appreciation of beauty, listened eagerly, putting in now and
then a question or a statement of such intelligence that the "Dowager
Queen" studied her with interest.

Beryl, thrilled by the ermine and the gleaming brooch, did not care a
fig about the cathedrals but sat back in a rapture of speculation. There
seemed something in the stately head with its crown of white hair,
vaguely, tantalizingly familiar; she must have seen pictures of the
Queen of Altruria somewhere. She watched each gesture and fitted it to
her dream. This Queen who seemed really truly friendly now and almost
human, might go back some day to Altruria, wherever that was, and of
course, when _she_ toured Europe, or maybe even when she was there
studying, she could go and stay at the Palace just like a relative. It
would be fun to visit in a palace and smile at all the fuss and crowns
and things because you were an American and didn't believe in them.

"Oh, we forgot our basket!" cried Robin, suddenly darting to the door
where Brina had, with a sniff, dropped their precious offering. "We
brought these--for a Christmas greeting."

"They are lovely," cried the "Queen" with sincere delight, her eyes
drinking in hungrily the beauty of the exotic blossoms--for Robin and
Beryl had helped themselves to the best the Manor had. "And fruit--ah,
Brina's heart will rejoice. What is this?" Her slender, shapely hands
fussed over the wrappings of the book, while Robin and Beryl watched.

"Why--" The Queen turned the book over and over, her face bent so that
its expression was hidden. The girls' delight gave way, now, to
concern--the Queen held the book so long and with such curious
intentness that they wondered, anxiously, if there were anything about
Dante's verses displeasing to a Queen of Altruria. "You never _can_ tell
about those jealous kingdoms over there!" Beryl said afterwards.

After their hostess had "most worn the book out staring at it" she
lifted her eyes and fixed a curious gaze upon her visitors.

"This is a rare little treasure," she said in a queer tone. "And may I