The Prince Gains an Ally

So it presently came to pass that Susie Rushford found herself walking on with the Prince of Markeld, while Nell took her place beside the invalid's chair. Five minutes later, Vernon had revised his judgment and decided that Nell was far the handsomer—she had the air, somehow, which one associates with duchesses, but which, alas! is, in reality, so seldom theirs. She was just a little regal, just a little awe-inspiring, so that to win a smile impressed one as, in a way, an achievement. Vernon had won several before they had been long together, and felt his heart growing strangely, deliciously warm within him.

As to Sue—if we may pause to analyse her feelings—she, too, had been for the first moment impressed. The Prince was so visibly a Highness; every line of him expressed it, not consciously, but inevitably, from the blood out. So, after a glance or two, she walked along beside him rather humbly and very silent, not in the least as the proverbial American girl should have done! Then she stole another glance at him and saw that he was twisting his moustache in evident perplexity.

"You may have perceived," he said, at last, with that slight formality of utterance which Sue thought very taking, "that I was most desirous of meeting you, Miss Rushford."

"I believe I did discern a sort of royal command in your eye," assented Susie, feeling suddenly at ease with him. He was evidently a mere man, even though he were a prince.

"Yes," he continued, "I felt that I owed you and your sister a more complete apology than it was possible for me to make yesterday without impertinence. You see I am unaccompanied to-day."

"Poor Jax!" laughed Susie.

"I suspect," the Prince continued, "that I somehow offended you when I offered you the dog."

"Oh, you perceived it, did you?" and she flashed an ironic glance upon him.

"Yes—though I could not in the least guess in what the offence consisted."

"My dear sir," said Sue, tartly, "American girls are not in the habit of accepting gifts from utter strangers."

"Not even from—from—"

He stopped, at a loss for a word which would express his meaning without absurdity.

"No, not even from Royal Highnesses," she added, interpreting his thought. "Besides, you know, in America we haven't any."

The Prince walked on in silence for a moment, his brow knit in meditation.

"Your last sentence explains it," he said, at last. "You have in America no class whose prerogative it is to bestow gifts, and, in consequence, you do not accept them as a matter of course. With us a gift is a conventional thing, like shaking hands."

"I wasn't trying to explain it," said Susie, with a little sigh of despair, "or to defend it—but let it go." Then, with a flash of mischief,—"Are you frequently called upon?"

"There are occasions almost every day which demand them of us," answered the Prince, soberly, missing the glance.

"Poor man! And the affair of yesterday was one of them? Forgive me if I am rude; but it is all so new and interesting!"

"It seemed only right," explained the Prince, "that I should compensate you in some way for the annoyance I had caused you."

The words were said so candidly and simply that the ironical smile faded from Susie's lips and she was silent for a moment.

"I think the American way the nicer," she said at last, decisively. "An American would have considered an apology ample reparation. With us a gift means something—it has a sentimental value. Besides, girls are never permitted to accept gifts of value. Flowers are the only things which may be given them."

"Flowers!" repeated the Prince, eagerly, looking at her.

"And only by their nearest, dearest friends," added Susie, hastily.

"Well, it is a very different point of view," said the Prince, the light fading from his face. "I have even heard that in America there are workmen who consider a tip an insult."

"It's unthinkable, isn't it? And yet, I'm proud to say, it's true. I may add that many Americans feel humiliated when they offer a tip to a man—it's like branding him with a badge of servility."

"I must confess," said the Prince, "that such an attitude seems to me absurd. What other badge than that of servility shall the servant wear?"

"He need wear no badge, if he does his work honestly and well," retorted
Susie, hotly. "There is nothing disgraceful in service."

"No," agreed the Prince, with some hesitation, "perhaps not; nor, for that matter, is there anything disgraceful in a badge. But I have not said what I wished to say, which was that I hope you believe my offence was wholly unintentional and that you pardon me."

"I am not vindictive," answered Sue, smiling at his earnest tone, "and therefore you are pardoned. But it seems unjust that Jax should suffer imprisonment."

"Oh, he will get his outing, but with GlÜck, who is less absent-minded.
Yesterday, I had much to occupy me."

"And to-day?"

"Not so much. I am resting on my oars."

"Yes," said Susie, and contented herself with the monosyllable. She was keenly on the alert; determined not to betray Lord Vernon's confidence, yet, at the same time, desirous of helping, in some way, her companion. She distinctly approved of him. Then, too, she had somehow got the impression that the other side was not playing fairly, and her whole American spirit revolted against unfairness.

"I should like to tell you about it," he began, with a sudden burst of confidence. "But perhaps you know?"

"I know some of it. I can guess that it means a great deal to you."

"It does—more than you can guess; I think. Not so much to me, personally, as to our people. I believe that I am speaking only the exact truth when I say that it will be much better for the people of Schloshold-Markheim if our branch of the house is recognised and not the other. Our branch has been, in a way, for many years, progressive; the other is and always has been—well—conservative."

He had the air of searching for a word that would not go beyond the truth; Susie, glancing at him, decided that he had chosen one which fell far short of it.

"We have a certain claim of kinship and friendship upon England," he added, "and we are very anxious to enlist her aid, even though we lose this time; for there may soon be another vacancy. The head of the other branch has no heir and is not well."

He might have added that the August Prince George, of Schloshold, was hovering on the verge of dissolution as the result of forty years' corruption—a corruption of which not all the waters of the Empire could cleanse him; but there are some things which are better left unsaid.

"Who is it that is opposed to you in all this?" asked Sue.

"The German Emperor," said the Prince, simply. "He is not always in sympathy with—ah—progress."

"So he is the man with the pistol!" said Susie, thoughtfully.

"The—I beg your pardon," and the Prince looked at her in some surprise.

"It is nothing," said Susie, hastily, colouring under his eyes. "I was merely thinking aloud—thinking of a story. Pardon me. Will you tell me some more?"

"There is not much more to tell. Only, we fear that if we are not given an opportunity to present our claims this time, we may be forgotten the next. Prince George might possibly try to name a successor—we have even understood that he already considers doing so—that this, indeed, is the price he has agreed to pay the Emperor for his support—though this, of course, is strictly entre nous. You see I am trusting you."

"Thank you," answered Susie, simply; but there was that in her voice and glance which told how she would deserve the confidence. And, on the instant, a great yearning leaped warm into her heart. If she could help this people to the ruler they needed most; if she could somehow turn the scale, so delicately balanced! There would be a task worth doing; an achievement to be proud of all her life! And she trembled a little at the thought that to her, Susie Rushford, fate had given such an opportunity!

But Markeld, apparently, had had enough of high politics, or perhaps he found it difficult to keep his mind on them with Susie's dark eyes looking up at him. He was no novice in womankind; he had known many, high and low; but there was in his companion something different, something appealing, something fresh, invigorating, which he had felt from the first, in a vague way, without quite understanding. Princes may be outspoken when they please, and he was so at this moment.

"I was glad of to-day's meeting not only that I might apologise," he said, with a calmness which rather took his companion's breath away, "but because you interested me. I have heard much of American women, but all that I have heretofore been privileged to meet seemed to me to resent being called Americans. You and your sister, on the other hand, appear to be rather proud of it."

"I don't know whether that is intended as a compliment or the reverse," said Susie, "but it is undoubtedly true."

"It was that which interested me," he went on. "It indicated such an unspoiled point of view—a freshness which I fear the Old World is losing."

"Thank you," retorted Susie, gasping a little. "You have honoured us, I see, with a very careful study. I can respond by saying that there is in your manner a certain freshness which I do not like," and she shot him a fiery glance. At the moment, he was rather too evidently the Prince.

"I am sorry you find me displeasing," he said, looking at her gravely.
Perhaps she was, at the moment, just the merest shade too evidently the
American girl. "I hope the impression is one which will change when you
know me better."

"Am I to have that pleasure?"

"I intend to ask your father if I may call upon you."

Susie gasped again. She felt that she was being swept beyond her depth by a current which she was powerless to resist; that she was beating with bare hands against a wall of incredible height and thickness—the wall of Old World convention, of class imperturbability. And she felt a little frightened, for almost the first time in her life.

"Do," she said faintly, realising that her companion was waiting for her to speak.

"I think that I shall like him," he added.

"Oh, do you know him?"

"'I was looking at him last night at dinner," he explained, calmly. "He seems a very interesting man. I looked at all of you a great deal—more than was perhaps quite polite. I feared you had perceived it."

"No," murmured Susie, desperately, telling a white lie.

"Tellier told me you were Americans—but I should have known it anyway."

"Tellier!" she repeated, turning upon him fiercely, welcoming the opportunity to create a diversion. "Then he was your emissary! And to think that I defended you!"

"My emissary?" he stammered. "Defended me?"

"Yes, when—when—some one said you had sent him to us—"

"Sent him to you!" he cried, flushing darkly. "Do you mean to say that he has been annoying you?"

"It was almost that."

"Ah!" he said. "Ah!" and he grasped his stick in a way that boded ill for Monsieur Tellier.

Susie, glancing up at him, thought it very fine. He was such a volcano, and there was such a fearful pleasure in stirring him up—in skipping over the thin crust with a lively consciousness of the boiling lava beneath!

"Then you didn't send him?" she inquired, sweetly.

"Send him! Miss Rushford, do you think for a moment that I would be so rude, so impertinent? Tell me you do not think so!"

"I didn't think so," said Sue, biting her lip, a little fearfully. "I even defended you, as I have said. But now—"

"But now—"

His eyes seemed to burn her; she dared not look up and meet them. She even regretted that she had begun to play with fire.

"But now," he repeated, insistently, imperatively.

"No, I don't think so now," she said, with a little catch of the breath. Then she glanced up at him, and instantly looked away. He should not act so; every one would notice; it was very embarrassing!

"That is kind of you," he said, in a low voice.

"Though," she added, reprovingly, glad to find a joint in his armour, "I am surprised that you should discuss me in any way whatever with that creature!"

"You are right!" he agreed, flushing hotly. "You are quite right. But the temptation was very great, and I wanted to know so badly. I beg you to believe that I regretted it an instant later. I do not want that you should think of me as like that!"

"Perhaps I would better not think of you at all," ventured Sue. Ah, what a fascination there is in fire!

"That would be still more unbearable!" he protested; his eyes were very bright and he was bending down a little that he might the better see the face under the broad hat.

"The view from here, I think, is very beautiful," she remarked, incoherently.

"No doubt," agreed the Prince, but he didn't take the trouble to look at it.

"He's a survival of the dark ages," said Susie to herself, "when they just snatched up girls and ran off with them!" Then aloud, "Have you ever been here before?"

"Never before."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, very much!" His eyes would have told her why; but she could guess without looking.

"I suppose you usually go to one of the larger places?"

"It is one of the traditions of our family that at least a month must be spent at Ostend."

"What a shame that the tradition should be broken!"

"On the contrary, I bless the circumstance that shattered it. Do you know, Miss Rushford, I have never before realised what a tremendously lucky fellow I am? I must pour a libation to the god of chance!"

"It's a goddess, isn't it?" she asked, and regretted the question the next instant.

"You are right," he agreed, his eyes blazing. "A goddess! You have found the word. A goddess! And such a goddess!"

Fortunately, they had reached the end of the promenade, and as they paused at the balustrade, Nell and Lord Vernon joined them, saving Susie from a situation which had slipped entirely beyond her control.

Evidently Nell, too, had been having her difficulties, for she telegraphed her sister a desire to change places. So, on the homeward journey, despite the very apparent unwillingness of the men, Sue walked beside the invalid chair and Nell accompanied the Prince; and while both seemed gay enough—even unnaturally gay, perhaps—I dare say they found that the situation had lost a certain interest; for every danger has its fascination, every hazard its piquancy.

"I am not sure," observed Susie, reflectively, as they went up the stair together, "that I approve of princes. They are too self-assured; they carry things with too high a hand. They are evidently too much accustomed to having their own way."

"It seems to be a characteristic of lords, also," said Nell, with a little sigh.

"What they need is a vigorous calling down. Well, that ought not to be so difficult!" and the dark eyes snapped ominously.

"Though, perhaps, it's hardly worth the trouble," suggested Nell.

"Perhaps not," assented her sister; but half an hour later she waylaid her father to give him her commands. "Dad," she said, "if the Prince of Markeld asks you for permission to call, you'll tell him he may. It's just one of these odious Old World customs."

"So I judged," smiled her father. "He seems a nice fellow, and so when he asked me ten minutes ago, I told him we'd be glad to see him."

"Did—did he mention any particular time?" faltered Sue.

"Why, yes, now I think of it, I believe he said something about this evening."

"Oh!" gasped Susie, and then closed her lips tightly together. "Well," she said to herself, as she turned away, "he hasn't lost any time, to be sure! I'm afraid he's worse than I thought!"