"Forgive me for not arising, Mr. Barnes," said Royalty, a wry little smile on her lips. "I fear I twisted it more severely than I thought at first. It is really quite painful."

"Your ankle?" he cried in surprise. "When and how did it happen? I'm sorry, awfully sorry."

"It happened last night, just as we were crossing the ditch in front--"

"Last night? Why didn't you tell me? Don't you know that it's wrong to walk with a sprained ankle? Don't--"

"Don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "You could not have done anything."

"Couldn't I, though? I certainly could have carried you the rest of the way,--and upstairs." He was conscious of a strange exasperation. He felt as though he had been deliberately cheated out of something.

"You poor man! I am quite heavy."

"Pooh! A hundred and twenty-five at the outside. Do you think I'm a weakling?"

"Please, please!" she cried. "You look so--so furious. I know you are very, very strong,--but so am I. Why should I expect you to carry me all that distance when--"

"But, good Lord," he blurted out, "I would have loved to do it. I can't imagine anything more--I--I--" He broke off in confusion.

She smiled divinely. "Alas, it is too late now. But--" she went on gaily, "you may yet have the pleasure of carrying me downstairs, Mr.

Barnes. Will that appease your wrath?"

He flushed. "I'm sorry I--"

"See," she said, "it is nicely bandaged,--and if you could see through the bandages you would find it dreadfully swollen. That nice Miss Thackeray doctored me. What a quaint person she is."

His brow clouded once more. "I hope you will feel able to leave this place to-morrow, Countess. We must get away almost immediately."

"Ah, you have been listening to O'Dowd, I see."

"Yes. He tells me it will be dangerous to--"

"I was thinking of something else that he must have told you. You forgot to address me as Miss Cameron."

"I might have gone even farther and called you the Countess Ted," he said.

She sighed. "It was rather nice being Miss Cameron to you, Mr. Barnes.

You will not let it make any difference, will you? I mean to say, you will be just the same as if I were still Miss Cameron and not--some one else?"

"I will be just the same," he said, leaning a little closer. "I am not so easily frightened as all that, you know."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, and then turned her own swiftly away. Entranced, he watched the delicate colour steal into her cheek.

"You are just like other women," he said thickly, "and I am like other men. We can't help being what we are, Countess. Flesh and blood mortals, that's all. If a cat may look at a king, why may not I look at a countess?"

She met his gaze, but not steadily. Her deep blue eyes were filled with a vague wonder; she seemed to be searching for something in his to explain the sudden embarra.s.sment that had come over her.

"Ah, I do not understand you American men," she murmured, shaking her head. "A king would have found as much pleasure in looking at Miss Cameron as at a countess. Why shouldn't YOU?" A radiant smile lighted her face. "The king would not think of reproving the cat. I see no reason why you should not look at a poor little countess with impunity."

"Do you think it would be possible for you to understand me any better as Miss Cameron?" he asked bluntly.

"I think perhaps it would," she said, the smile fading.

"Then, I shall continue to look upon you as Miss Cameron, Countess. It will make it easier for both of us."

"Yes," she said, a little sadly, "I am sure Miss Cameron would not be half so dense as the Countess. She would understand perfectly. She has grown to be a very discerning person, Mr. Barnes, notwithstanding her extreme youth. Miss Cameron is only four days old, you see."

He bowed very low and said: "My proudest boast is that I have known her since the day she was born. If I had the tongue and the courage of O'Dowd I might add a great deal to that statement."

"A great deal that you would not say to a countess?" she asked, playing with fire.

"A great deal that a child four days old could hardly be expected to grasp, Miss Cameron," he replied, pointedly. "Having lived to a great age myself, and acquired wisdom, I appreciate the futility of uttering profound truths to an infant in arms."

She beamed. "O'Dowd could not have done any better than that," she cried. Then quickly, even nervously, as he was about to speak again: "Now, tell me all that Mr. O'Dowd had to say."

He seated himself and repeated the Irishman's warning. Her eyes clouded as he went on; utter dejection came into them.

"He is right. It would be difficult for me to clear myself. My own people would be against me. No one would believe that I did not deliberately make off with the jewels. They would say that I--oh, it is too dreadful!"

"Don't worry about that," he exclaimed. "You have me to testify that--"

"How little you know of intrigue," she cried. "They would laugh at you and say that you were merely another fool who had lost his head over a woman. They would say that I duped you--"

"No!" he cried vehemently. "Your people know better than you think. You are disheartened, discouraged. Things will look brighter to-morrow.

Good heavens, think how much worse it might have been. That--that infernal brute was going to force you into a vile, unholy marriage.

He--By the way," he broke off abruptly, "I have been thinking a lot about what you told me. He couldn't have married you without your consent. Such a marriage would never hold in a court of--"

"You are wrong," she said quietly. "He could have married me without my consent, and it would have held,--not in one of your law courts, I dare say, but in the court to which he and I belong by laws that were made centuries before America was discovered. A prince of the royal house may wed whom and when he chooses, provided he does not look too far beneath his station. He may not wed a commoner. The state would not recognise such a union. My consent was not necessary."

"But you are in my country now, not in yours," he argued. "Our laws would have protected you."

"You do not understand. Marriages such as he contemplated are made every year in Europe. Do you suppose that the royal marriages you read about in the newspapers are made with the consent of the poor little princes and princesses? Your laws are one thing, Mr. Barnes; our courts are another. Need I be more explicit?"

"I think I understand," he said slowly. "Poor wretches!"

"Prince Ugo is of royal blood. I am not too far beneath him. In my country his word is the law. The marriage that was to have been celebrated to-day at Green Fancy would have bound me to him forever. It would have been recognised in my country as legal. I have not the right of appeal. I would not even be permitted to question his right to make me his wife against my will. He is a prince. His will is law."

"Isn't love allowed to enter into a--"

"Love?" she scorned. "What has love to do with it? There isn't a queen in all the world who loves--or loved, I would better say,--the man she married. Some of them may have grown afterwards to love their kings, because all kings are not alike. You may be quite sure, however, that the wives of kings and princes did not marry their ideals; they did not marry the men they loved. So, you see, it wouldn't have mattered in the least to Prince Ugo whether I loved him or hated him. It was all the same to him. It was enough that he loved me and wanted me. And besides, laying sentiment aside, it wouldn't have been a bad stroke of business on his part. He has a fair chance to sit on the throne of our country.

By placing me beside him on the throne he would be taking a long step toward uniting the factions that are now bitterly opposing each other.

I am able to discuss all this very calmly with you now, Mr. Barnes, for the nightmare is ended. I am here with you, alive and well. If you had not come for me last night, I would now be sleeping the long sleep at Green Fancy."

"You--you would have taken your own life?" he said, in a shocked voice.

"I would have spared myself the horror of letting him destroy it in a slower, more painful fashion," she said, compressing her lips.

He did not speak at once. Looking into her troubled eyes, he said, after a soulful moment: "I am glad that I came in time. You were made to love and be loved. The man you love,--if there ever be one so fortunate,--will be my debtor to the end of his days. I glorify myself for having been instrumental in saving you for him."