"Oh, Sue!" wailed Nell. "How can you be so mercenary? Oh, I wish it was the necklace! But it isn't! It's the note!"

It was Sue's turn to gasp, to turn pale, to sink into a chair.

"The note!" she echoed, hoa.r.s.ely. "Not Lord Vernon's!"

Nell nodded mutely, her face a study for the Tragic Muse.

"But I thought you destroyed it," said Sue. "You said you were going to!"

"I know--but I didn't," answered Nell, a faint tinge of pink in her pallid cheeks. "I--I didn't see the need of destroying it. I supposed n.o.body knew, and I--I thought I'd keep it as a--a souvenir, you know. I had it in my desk. I am sure I locked it before I came down this evening, but just now I found it open and the note gone."

"Well, and what did you do then?"

"I looked all through the desk--I thought maybe it had slipped out of sight somehow--but it hadn't--it wasn't there. Then I called the maid, Julie, and told her something had been stolen. She swore no one had entered the room since I left it--that no one could have entered it. Of course, I couldn't tell her about the note, so I sent her away and came to you. I--I feel like a traitor. I don't know what to do!"

Susie went to her and put her arms about her and drew her close.

"We can't do anything to-night, dear," she said; "that's certain.

To-morrow you must tell Lord Vernon."

She felt Nell quiver at the words and drew her closer still, with intimate understanding.

"I don't believe he will care so much," she went on, comfortingly.

"Perhaps the note isn't so important as we think. I suppose we should have destroyed it at once."

"Yes," said Nell, drearily, "I suppose we should. But who could have foreseen anything like this!"

"The best thing to do now is to go to bed," added Sue, practically, and she raised her sister and led her back to her room. "In the morning we can make a thorough search for the note. Perhaps, after all, you overlooked it."

"I couldn't have overlooked it," answered Nell. "I remember perfectly placing it in this drawer," she continued, going to the desk and opening it, "here, just under this pile of note-paper."

"Perhaps it slipped in between the sheets," suggested Sue.

"I thought of that," said Nell, but nevertheless she began mechanically to open sheet after sheet. As she opened the third one, a little slip of paper fluttered to the floor.

She sprang upon it with a cry of joy, opened it, glanced at it.

"Thank G.o.d!" she said, thickly. "It's all right--it's--"

And she fell forward into Susie's arms.

CHAPTER XIII

The Second Promenade

Again the sun rose clear and bright, and again, having dispelled the mist and chill of the early morning, it lured forth for the inevitable promenade such of the sojourners at Weet-sur-Mer as had managed to get to bed before dawn. Prince Markeld, descending with the earliest, left nothing this time to chance, but took his station at the stairfoot, and waited there with a patience really exemplary. From which it will be seen that Princes in love are much as other men.

And presently, descending toward him, he descried the Misses Rushford; Susie radiant as the morning, Nell a trifle paler than her wont, but more beautiful, if anything, because of it. The Prince hastened forward to greet them.

"Which way shall we go?" he asked, with the comfortable certainty of including himself in their plans. "Good-morning," he added, to the occupant of an invalid chair which was standing just outside the door.

"Good-morning," replied Lord Vernon, his eyes on Nell's. "My outing yesterday was such a pleasant one that I was hoping it might be repeated."

"Going or coming?" queried Sue, with a quizzical curve of the lips.

"Both ways," answered Vernon, promptly; but his eyes were still on Nell.

Markeld also looked excellently satisfied.

"Very well," he said, in his autocratic way, "we will proceed as we did yesterday," and he led Susie away. Strange to relate, she followed quite meekly. Somehow, when the moment came, it seemed exceedingly difficult to snub him.

"Do you know," he was saying, "I fell quite in love with your father last night. His point of view is so fresh and so full of humour.

Though," he added, "I must confess that sometimes I did not entirely understand him."

"Didn't you?" laughed Susie. "Dad _does_ use a good deal of slang. It's an American failing."

"So I have heard. I know my aunt will like him, too--the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Markheim, you know."

"No," said Sue, a little faintly, "I didn't know." She had never before considered the possibility of the Prince having any women relatives; her heart fell as she thought what dreadful creatures they would probably prove to be.

"My aunt is the head of the family," explained the Prince, calmly, unconscious of his companion's perturbation. "She rules us with a rod of iron. But you will like her and I know she will like you. She adores anything with fire in it."

"Oh," said Susie, to herself, "and how does he know I've any fire in me?" But she judged it wisest not to utter the question aloud.

"She worships spirit," added the Prince. "She is very fond of quoting a line of your poet, Browning. 'What have I on earth to do,' she will demand, 'with the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?' Sometimes, I fear, she aims the adjectives at me."

Susie felt her heart softening, for she liked that line, too.

"I don't believe you deserve the adjectives,'' she said.

"Do you not?" he asked, eagerly, with brightened eyes.

"And I should like to meet your aunt," she continued, hastily.

"So you shall, most certainly," he a.s.sented, instantly. "As soon as it can be arranged."

"Oh, does it have to be arranged?" inquired Susie, in some dismay.

"Not in that sense--she is very democratic--she likes people for what they are. But until this question of the succession is concluded you will readily understand that, through anxiety, she is not in the best of humours--not quite herself."

"Is she, then, here?" asked Susie.

"Here? Oh, no; she is at Markheim--at the post of duty. That is another reason--until this affair is settled, I cannot ask her to join me here."