CUPID'S UNDERSTUDY

by

Edward Salisbury Field

Chapter One

If Dad had been a coal baron, like Mr. Tudor Carstairs, or astock-watering captain of industry, like Mrs. Sanderson-Spear's husband, or descended from a long line of whisky distillers, like Mrs. Carmichael Porter, why, then his little Elizabeth would have beenallowed the to sit in seat of the scornful with the rest of the FourHundred, and this story would never have been written. But Dadwasn't any of these things; he was just an old love who had madeseven million dollars by the luckiest fluke in the world. 

Everybody in southern California knew it was a fluke, too, so theseven millions came in for all the respect that would otherwise havefallen to Dad. Of course we were celebrities, in a way, but in avery horrid way. Dad was Old Tom Middleton, who used to keep alivery-stable in San Bernardino, and I was Old Tom Middleton's girl, "who actually used to live over a livery-stable, my dear!" It soundsfearfully sordid, doesn't it?

But it wasn't sordid, really, for I never actually lived over astable. Indeed, we had the sweetest cottage in all San Bernardino. Iremember it so well: the long, cool porch, the wonderful gold-of-Ophirroses, the honeysuckle where the linnets nested, the mockingbirds that sang all night long; the perfume of the jasmine, of theorange-blossoms, the pink flame of the peach trees in April, theever-changing color of the mountains. And I remember Ninette, mylittle Creole mother, gay as a butterfly, carefree as a meadow-lark. 'Twas she who planted the jasmine. 

My little mother died when I was seven years old. Dad and I and myold black mammy, Rachel, stayed on in the cottage. The mocking-birdsstill sang, and the linnets still nested in the honeysuckle, butnothing was ever quite the same again. It was like a differentworld; it was a different world. There were gold-of-Ophir roses, and, peach blossoms in April, but there was no more jasmine; Dad hadit all dug up. To this day he turns pale at the sight of it--poorDad!

When I was twelve years old, Dad sold out his hardware business, intending to put his money in an orange grove at Riverside, but thenicest livery-stable in San Bernardino happened to be for sale justthen, so he bought that instead, for he was always crazy abouthorses. 

To see me trotting about in Paquin gowns and Doucet models, you'dnever think I owed them to three owlish little burros, would you?But it's a fact. When Dad took over the livery-stable, he found hewas the proud possessor of three donkeys, as well as some twenty-oddhorses, and a dozen or so buggies, buckboards and surries. Theburros ate their solemn heads off all winter, but in May it had beenthe custom to send them to Strawberry Valley in charge of a Mexicanwho hired them out to the boarders at the summer hotel there. Luckily for us, when Fortune came stalking down the main street ofSan Bernardino to knock at the door of the Golden Eagle Stables, both dad and the burros were at home. If either had been out, wemight be poor this very minute. 

It is generally understood that when Fortune goes a-visiting, shegoes disguised, so it's small wonder Dad didn't recognize her atfirst. She wasn't even a "her"; she was a he, a great, awkward Swedewith mouse-colored hair and a Yon Yonsen accent--you know the kind--slowto anger; slow to everything, without "j" in his alphabet--bythe name of Olaf Knutsen. 

Now Olaf was a dreamer. Not the conventional sort of a dreamer, whosees beauty in everything but an honest day's work, but a brawny, pick-swinging dreamer who had dug holes in the ground at the end ofmany rainbows. That he had never yet uncovered the elusive pot ofgold didn't seem to bother him in the least; for him, that tenderplant called Hope flowered perennially. And now he was bent onfollowing another rainbow; a rainbow which; arching over themountains, ended in that arid, pitiless waste known in the southcountry as Death Valley. 

He wouldn't fail this time. No, by Yimminy! With Dad's three burros, and plenty of bacon and beans and water--it was to be a grub-stake, of course--he would make both their fortunes. And the beautiful partabout it was, he did. 

No doubt you have heard of the famous Golden Eagle mine. Well, that's what Olaf and the three burros found in Death Valley. Goodold Olaf! He named the mine after Dad's livery-stable in SanBernardino, and he insisted on keeping only a half interest, eventhough Dad fought him about it. You see, Dad didn't have thereputation of being the squarest man in San Bernardino for nothing. 

Chapter Two

My mother's family had never approved of her marriage with Dad, butDad, poor and running a hardware shop or a livery-stable, and Dadwith a fortune in his hands were two very different people--fromtheir standpoint, at least; so as soon as Olaf and the three burrosstruck it rich, Dad sold his livery-stable, and mammy Rachel and Iwere bundled off to Ninette's relations in New Orleans. I didn'tlike it a bit at first, but one can get used to anything in time. Ninette's maiden sister, Miss Marie Madeline Antoinette HortensePrevost, was awfully nice to me; so was grandmere Prevost. I livedwith them till I was sixteen, when I was sent to France. 

If I wanted to (and you would let me) I could personally conduct youto Paris, where if you were ten feet tall and not averse to staring, you could look over a certain gray stone wall on the Boulevard desInvalides, and see me pacing sedately up and down the gravel walksin the garden of the Convent of the Sacred Heart. That is, you couldhave seen me three years ago. I'm not there now, thank goodness! I'min California. 

And just one word before we go any further any further. I don't wantyou to think for a minute that I came back from Paris a littleFrenchified miss. No, indeed! I'm as American as they make them. When I boasted to the other girls, whether in Paris or New Orleans, I always boasted about two things: Dad and California. And I've anidea I'll go on boasting about them till my dying day. 

Of course, when I returned from Paris, Dad met me in New York. Itwas a good thing he was rich, for it took a lot of money to get meand my seven trunks through the custom-house. It might have takenmore, though, if it hadn't been for a young man who came over on thesame boat. 

He was such a good-looking young man; tall and broad-shouldered andfair, with light-brown hair, and the nicest eyes you ever saw. Itwasn't their color so much (his eyes were blue) as the way theylooked at you that made them so attractive. He was awfully wellbred, too! He noticed me a lot on the boat (I had a perfect love ofa Redfern coat to wear on deck), but he didn't try to scrapeacquaintance with me. He worshipped from afar (a woman can alwaystell when a man's thinking about her), and while I wouldn't have hadhim act otherwise for the world, I was crazy to have him speak tome. 

Our boat docked at Hoboken, and by tipping right and left I managedto be the very first passenger down the gangway. I half ran, halfslid, but I landed in Dad's arms. 

My boxes and bags passed through the custom-house with flyingcolors. But my trunks--I couldn't even find them all. Five of themwere stacked in the "M" division, but the other two. . . . Thenthere was my maid's trunk to look for under the "V's" (her name isValentine). Dad and I were commencing at "A, " prepared to gotthrough the whole alphabet, if necessary, when the nice young manstepped up and, raising his hat, asked if he might be of anyservice. He asked Dad, but he looked at me. 

"Oh, If you please!" I said "I've lost two trunks. My brand is awhite, 'M' in a red circle. "

"I noticed them in the 'R' pile" he replied. "I'll have them movedto the 'M's' right away. "

"Now that's what I call being decent, " said Dad, as soon as theyoung man had left us. "Did you notice, he didn't wear a uniform?Probably an inspector, or something of the sort, eh, Elizabeth?"

"Well--er--not exactly, " I managed to say. "The fact is, Dad, hecame over on the boat with me, and--"

Dad looked thoughtful. 

"He never spoke to me once the whole trip, " I added hastily. 

Dad looked less thoughtful. 

"It was nice of him to wait till I had you with me, wasn't it?"

Dad smiled. "If you think it was, it probably was, my dear, " hesaid. 

Chapter Three

The nice young man did more than find my missing trunks; he found acustom-house officer, and, after asking me privately which trunkscontained my most valuable possessions and how much I had thought ofdeclaring, he succeeded in having them passed through on my ownvaluation without any undue exposure of their contents. 

By this time Dad had grown very respectful. To see his littleElizabeth treated like a queen, while on all sides angry women werehaving their best gowns pawed over and mussed; was a most wholesomelesson. He paid the thousand and odd dollars duty like a little man. 

We'd been saved a lot of bother, and nobody hates a lot of bothermore than Dad. So when the trunks were locked and strapped and readyto be sent to our hotel, Dad went up to the nice young man and said:"I'm Tom Middleton, from California, and this is my daughterElizabeth. We're both very grateful to you, and if you should everhappen to come to California, I hope you'll look us up. "

That's Dad all over!

I never saw anybody look so pleased as the young man: "My name'sPorter, " he said, "Blakely Porter. If my mother were in New York Iwould ask if she might call on Miss Middleton, but, as it happens, she's in California, where I intend to join her, so I shall lookforward to seeing you there. "

Then Dad did just the right thing. "What's the use of waiting tillwe get to California?" he said. "Why not dine with us to-night!"

There are people, merely conventional people, who could neverappreciate the fine directness and simplicity, of Dad's nature--notif they lived to be a thousand years old. But Mr. Blakely Porterunderstood perfectly; I know he did, for he told me so afterwards. "It was the greatest compliment I ever had paid me in my life, " hesaid. "Your father knew nothing about me, absolutely nothing, yet heinvited me to dine with him--and you. It was splendid, splendid!"

The dear boy didn't know, perhaps, that honesty shone in his eyes, that one could not look at him and deny he was a gentleman. And, ofcourse, I didn't enlighten him, for it is well for men, particularly, young men, to feel grateful, and the least bit humble;it keeps them from being spoiled. 

But to return to the dinner invitation: Mr. Porter accepted iteagerly. "It is more than kind of you, " he said. "My mother is away, and her house is closed. It is my first home-coming in four years, and I should have been lonely to-night. "

And poor Dad, who has been lonely--oh, so lonely!--ever sinceNinette died, shook hands with him, and said: "If my daughter and Ican keep you from feeling lonely, we shall be so glad. We arestopping at The Plaza, and we dine at half past seven. "

Then Mr. Porter found us a taxi-cab, and away we went. 

It was good to be in America again. I made Dad stop the car, andhave the top put back, even though it was freezing cold, for I hadnever been in New York before (when I'd gone to France, I had sailedfrom New Orleans) and I wanted to see everything. The tallbuildings, the elevated, even the bad paving till we got to FifthAvenue, interested me immensely, as they would any one to whom. Paris had been home, and New York a foreign city. Not that I hadever thought of Paris as my real home; home was, where my heartwas--with Dad. I tried to make him understand how, happy I was to bewith him, how I had missed him, and California. 

"So you missed your old father; did you, girlie?"

"Yes, Dad. "

"And you'll be glad to go to California?"

"Oh, so glad!"

"Then, " said Dad, "we'll start tomorrow. "

Our rooms at the hotel were perfect; there was a bed room and bathfor me a bed room and bath for Dad, with a sitting room between, allfacing the Park. And there were roses everywhere; huge AmericanBeauties, dear, wee, pink roses, roses of flaming red. I turned toDad, who was standing in the middle of the sitting room, beaming atme. "You delightful old spendthrift!" I cried. "What do you mean bybuying millions of roses? And in the middle of January too! Youdeserve to be disciplined, and you shall be. "

"Discipline is an excellent thing; even if it does disturb the setof one's tie, " Dad remarked thoughtfully, a moment later. 

"I couldn't help hugging you, Daddy. "

"My dear, that hug of yours was the sweetest thing that has happenedto your dad in many a long year. "

And then, of course, I had to hug him again. 

After luncheon (we had it in our sitting room) Dad asked if I wouldenjoy a drive through the Park. 

"I should enjoy it immensely, " I said, "but I can't possibly go. "

You see, there was a trunk to unpack, the one holding my prettiestdinner gown. Of course Valentine was quite capable of attending tothe unpacking. Still, one likes to inspect everything one is towear, especially when one is expecting a guest to dinner. "Then, "said Dad, "I think I'll order dinner, and go for a walk, shall wehave dinner here?"

"Oh, by all means! This is so much more homelike than a publicdining room. "

"I'll not be gone more than an hour or two. . . Hullo! Come in. "

A small boy entered, carrying a box quite as big as himself. "ForMiss Middleton, " he said. 

"Another present from you, Dad?"

"Open it, my dear. "

"I thought so, " he remarked, as the removal of the cover displayedmore American Beauties. (There were five dozen;) I counted themafter Dad had gone. Another million roses and in the middle ofJanuary! "Who's the spendthrift this time, Elizabeth?"

"His name, " I said, slipping a card: from the envelope that lay on ahuge bow of red ribbon, "is Mr. Blakely Porter. "

Although I know, now, there are many things more beautiful, Ibelieved, then, that nothing more beautiful had ever happened; forit was the first time a man had ever sent me roses. Nineteen yearsold, and my first roses! They made me so happy. Paris seemed veryfar away; the convent was a mythical place I had seen in a dream;nothing was real but Dad, and America, and the roses somebody, hadsent. Somebody!

Chapter Four

Mr. Porter arrived on time to the minute, looking perfectly splendidin a wonderful furlined coat. And if his eyes were anxious, and hismanner a bit constrained at first, it didn't last long; Dad'sgreeting was too cordial, not to make him feel at home. Indeed, hetalked delightfully all through dinner, and with the coffee, halflaughingly, half apologizingly told us the story of his life. "For, "said he, "although I feel as if I'd known you always, " (he looked atDad, but I was sure he meant me, too) "you may not feel the same inregard to me--and I want you to. "

It was sweet to see Dad grow almost boyish in his insistence that hefelt as Mr. Porter did. "Nonsense!" he said. "It seems the mostnatural thing in the world to have you here. Doesn't it Elizabeth!"

It was rather embarrassing to be asked such a question in Mr. Porter's presence, but I managed to murmur a weak "Yes, indeed!"Inside, though, I felt just as Dad did, and I was fearfullyinterested in Mr. Porter's account of himself. I could see, too, that he belittled the real things, and magnified the unimportant. According to his narrative, the unimportant things were that he wasa civil engineer, that he had been in Peru building a railroad foran English; syndicate, and that the railroad was now practicallycompleted; he seemed, however, to attach great importance to thecable that had called him to London to appear before a board ofdirectors, for that had been the indirect means of his takingpassage on the same ship with me. Then there was the wonderful factthat he was to see us in California. He had been in harness now forfour years, he said, and he felt as if he'd earned a vacation. Atall events, he meant to take one. 

As neither he nor Dad would hear of my leaving them to their cigars, I sat by and listened, and loved it all, every minute of it. Ididn't know, then (I don't know to this day) whether I liked Mr. Porter best for being so boyish, or so manly. But manly men whoretain all the enthusiasms of youth have a certain charm one likesinstinctively, I think. 

There is no doubt that Mr. Porter quite captivated Dad. "You make mefeel like a boy, " he said, after listening to a delightfullywhimsical account of conditions in Peru. "By George, that's acountry for you! And Ecuador, I've always thought that must be aninteresting place. Have you ever been there?"

Yes, Mr. Porter had been to Ecuador. And there was a certainrail-road in India he had helped put through. India! Now that WAS aplace! Had Dad ever been to India?

No, Dad had never been to India, but. . . "Good Lord, boy, how oldare you, anyway?"

"Thirty-two. "

"Well, I never would have guessed it. Would you, Elizabeth?"

This, too, was rather embarrassing, but I managed to say I thoughtMr. Porter didn't look a day over twenty-eight. 

"It's the life he leads, " Dad declared with an air ofproprietorship--"out of doors all day long. It must be great!"

"It IS interesting. But I think I like it best for what it has donefor one; you see, I was supposed to have lungs once, long ago. NowI'm as sound as a dollar. "

"He looks it, doesn't he, Elizabeth!"

If Dad hadn't been such a dear, I should have been annoyed by hisconstant requests for my opinion where it was so obviouslyunnecessary. But Dad is such a dear. To make it worse, Mr. Porterseemed to consider that whether he was, or was not, as sound as adollar, depended entirely on my answer. 

"One would think I was a sort of supreme court from the way Dadrefers all questions to me. But I warn you, Mr. Porter; my 'yes' or'no' makes little difference in his opinions. "

"You are my supreme court, and they do, " declared Dad. 

"I'm sure they do, " said Mr. Porter, "When the novelty of having me with you has worn off, you'll be yoursame old domineering self, Daddy dear. "

"Domineering! Hear the minx! I'm a regular lamb, Porter. Thatreminds me: When are you going to California!"

"I hadn't thought. That is, I had thought. . . That is, I've wished. . . I mean I've wondered. . . . . I hope you won't think me presumptuous, Mr. Middleton, but I've wondered if you'd allow me to go on the sametrain with you and Miss Middleton. "

"Why, my dear boy, we'd be delighted. Wouldn't we, Elizabeth!"

Mr. Porter turned to me. "You see, Miss Middleton, you are thesupreme court, after all, " his lips said. But his eyes told me whyhe wanted to go on the same train with Dad and me, told me plainerthan words. Perhaps I should have remembered I had never spoken tohim till that morning, but. . . . . 

"The supreme court congratulates the inferior court on the wisdom ofits decision, " I said, with an elaborate bow to Dad to hide myconfusion. 

"It's settled!" cried Dad. "This is quite the nicest thing that everhappened, " said Mr. Porter. "If only you knew how grateful I am. Ifeel like--like giving three cheers, and tossing my hat in the air. "

"The inferior court rules against hat-tossing as irrelevant, immaterial, and incompetent. "

"Ruling sustained, " I said. 

"And they call this a free country!"

"The newspapers don't. Read the newspapers my boy. "

"At any rate, I now belong to the privileged class. When do weleave, Mr. Middleton?"

"Elizabeth says to-morrow. We go by rather a slow train. "

"But why?" I began. 

"Because, my dear, an all-wise Providence has decreed that expresstrains shall not haul private cars. "

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Mr. Porter. "That makes all the difference inthe world. "

"Only a day's difference. "

"I mean. . . . . "

"You're going as our guest, you know. "

"But really, Mr. Middleton, I never. . . . . "

"Don't be absurd, my boy. "

"No, " said Mr. Blakely Porter, "I won't be absurd. I shall be morethan glad to go as your guest. "

"That's the way it should be. Isn't it, Elizabeth!"

"I didn't know you owned a private car, Dad. "

"Pshaw!" said Dad. "What's a private car?"

I smiled at what I was pleased to term "Dad's magnificence, " littlethinking I was soon to look on private cars as one of the mostdelectable of modern inventions. 

Chapter Five

Our train left Grand Central Station at two o'clock next afternoon;it was bitter cold, I remember, and I drove to the station, smothered in furs. But our car was wonderfully cozy and comfortable, and it warmed my heart to see how proud Dad was of it: I mustinspect the kitchen; this was my stateroom, did I like it? I mustn'tjudge Amos by his appearance, but the way he could cook--he was awonder at making griddle cakes. Did I still like griddle cakes? "Anddo look at the books and magazines Mr. Porter brought. And a box ofchocolates, too. Wasn't it kind of him?" Dear Dad! He was like achild with a new toy. 

I'm sure he enjoyed every minute of the trip. Mr. Porter playedcribbage with him (Dad adores cribbage) by the hour; they talkedrailroads, and politics, and mining--I don't think Dad had been sohappy in years. I know I had never been so happy, for I was sure Mr. Porter loved me. I couldn't help being sure; his heart was in hiseyes every time he looked at me. 

When we started from New York, we were Mr. Middleton, and Mr. Porter, and Miss Middleton to one another; at Chicago, it was Tom, and Blakely, and Miss Middleton; I became Elizabeth in Utah (I madehim call me that. ) And when we reached Nevada. . . . . 

It happened so naturally, so sweetly. Dad was taking a nap afterluncheon, and Blakely and I were sitting on the rear platform of ourcar, the last car in the train. It was a heavenly day of blue skyand sunshine; the desert was fresh from recent rain. And then a few, dear, faltered words changed the desert into a garden that reachedto the rim of the world. 

"I love you. I didn't mean to tell you quite yet, but I. . . . . I. . . . . "

"I know. And it makes me so happy. "

 * * * * *

You never saw anybody so delighted as Dad was when we told him. "This makes me glad clear through, " he said. "Blakely, boy, Icouldn't love you more if you were my own son. Elizabeth, girl, comeand kiss your old Daddy. "

"And you aren't surprised, Dad?"

"Not a bit. "

"He's known I've loved you, all along. Haven't you, Tom?"

"I may have suspected it. "

"But I'm sure he never dreamed I could possibly care for you, " Isaid. And then, because I was too happy to do anything else, I wentto my state-room, and had a good cry. 

I have read somewhere that Love would grow old were it not for thetears of happy women. 

Chapter Six

When we flew down the grade into California, everything seemed settled;we were going to Santa Barbara where Dad was building a little palacefor his Elizabeth as a grand surprise (Blakely's mother was in SantaBarbara); we would take rooms at the same hotel; I would be presentedto Mrs. Porter, and as soon as the palace on the hill was completed--amatter of two or three months--Blakely, and Dad, and I would move intoit. Only, first, Blakely and I were going to San Bernardino on ourwedding trip. 

Wasn't that sweet of Blakely? When I told him about San Bernardino, and the livery-stable, and the cottage where Dad and I used to live, he said he'd rather spend our honeymoon there than any place in theworld. Of course Dad had never sold the cottage, and it was touchingto see how pleased he was with our plan. 

"You'll find everything in first-class condition, " he said; "I gothere often myself. I built a little house in one corner of thegarden for the caretakers. You should see that gold-of-Ophir rose, Elizabeth; it has grown beyond belief. "

When we reached Oakland--where our car had to be switched off andattached to a coast line, train--we found we had four hours to kill, so Dad and Blakely and I (it was Blakely's idea) caught the boatacross to San Francisco. 

What do you suppose that dear boy wanted us to go over there for?And where do you suppose he took us? He took us straight toShreve's, and he and Dad spent a beautiful two hours in choosing anengagement ring for me. So when we finally landed in Santa Barbara Iwas wearing a perfect love of a ruby on the third finger of my lefthand. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, too; I didn't care if allthe world saw that I adored Blakely. We arrived in Santa Barbara inthe morning, and it was arranged that Blakely should lunch with hismother and devote himself to her during the afternoon, but he was todine with us in our rooms. Naturally, I had a lot to do, supervisingthe unpacking of my clothes, and straightening things about in oursitting-room so that it wouldn't look too hotelish. Then Dadwouldn't be happy till I'd inspected my new palace on the hill. 

It was an alarming looking pile. If anybody but Dad had beenresponsible for it, I should have said it was hideous. Poor old Dad!He knows absolutely nothing about architecture. But of course Iraved over it, and, really, when I came to examine it closer, Ifound it had its good points. Covered with vines, it would have beenactually beautiful. Virginia creeper grows like mad in Californiaand with English ivy and Lady Banksia roses to help out, I was sureI could transform my palace into a perfect bower in almost no time. I was awfully glad I had seen it first, for now. I could break thebad news gently to Blakely. If I were a man, I couldn't love a girlwho owned such a hideous house. 

But I didn't have a chance to talk house to Blakely for some time. When he came in to dinner that night he looked awfully depressed; hebrightened up a lot, though, when he saw me. I had on my mostbecoming gown, and Dad had ordered a grand dinner, including his ownspecial brand of Burgundy. If Dad knew as much about architecture ashe does about wine, they'd insist on his designing all the buildingsfor the next world's fair. 

All through dinner Blakely wasn't quite himself--I could see it; Ithink Dad saw it, too-but I knew he would tell us what was thematter as soon as he had an opportunity. One, of the sweetest thingsabout Blakely is his perfect frankness. I couldn't love a man whowasn't frank with me. That is, I suppose I could, but I should hateto; it would break my heart. Well, after dinner, when Dad hadlighted his cigar, and Blakely his cigarette, it all came out. 

"Tom!"

"Yes, my boy. " (I think Dad loved to hear Blakely say Tom almost asmuch as I loved to hear him say Elizabeth. )

"Tom, I've got you and Elizabeth into a deuce of an unpleasantposition. I've told you what a fine woman my mother is, and howshe'd welcome Elizabeth with open arms, and now I find I was allwrong. My mother isn't a fine woman; she's an ancestor-worshiping, heartless, selfish snob. I'm ashamed of her, Tom. She refuses tomeet Elizabeth. "

Chapter Seven

I never was so sorry for anybody in my whole life as I was forBlakely; I would have done anything to have saved him the bitternessand humiliation of that moment. As for Dad, he couldn't understandit at all. That Blakely's mother should refuse to meet his Elizabethwas quite beyond his comprehension. 

"This is very strange, " he said, "very strange. There must be somemistake. Why shouldn't she meet Elizabeth?"

"There is no reason in the world, " Blakely answered. 

"Then why--?"

"She probably has other plans for her son, Daddy dear, " I said. "Andno doubt she has heard that we're fearfully vulgar. "

"Well, we ain't, " said Dad in a relieved voice; "and as for thoseplans of hers, I reckon she'll have to outgrow them. Buck up, myboy! One look at Elizabeth will show her she's mistaken. "

"You don't know my mother, " Blakely replied; "I feel that I haven'tknown her till now. It's out of the question, our staying here afterwhat has happened. Let's go up to Del Monte, and let's not wait fourmonths for the wedding. Why can't we be married this week? I'm donewith my mother and with the whole tribe of Porters; they're not mykind, and you and Elizabeth are. "

"Tom, I never felt, that I had a father till I found you. Elizabeth, girl, I never knew what happiness was till you told me you loved me. My mother says she would never consent to her son's marrying thedaughter of a man who has kept a livery-stable. I say that I'm donewith a family that made its money out of whisky. My mother's fatherwas a distiller, her grandfather was a distiller, and if there's anyshame, it's mine, for by all the standards of decency, a livery-stableis a hundred times more respectable than a warehouse full ofwhisky. You made your money honestly, but ours has been wrung out ofthe poor, the sick, the ragged, the distressed. The whisky businessis a rotten business, Tom, rotten!"

"It was whisky that bought an ambassadorship for my mother'sbrother; it was whisky that paid for the French count my sistermarried; it was whisky that sent me to college. Whisky, whisky--always whisky!"

"I never thought twice about it before, but I've done some tallthinking today. I'm done with the Porters, root and branch. Elizabeth and I are going to start a little family tree, of our own, and we're not going to root it in a whisky barrel, either. We're--we're--"

"There, there!" said Dad. "It's all right, Blakely, boy. It ain't sobad as you think. You ain't going to throw your mother over and yourmother ain't going to throw you over. I take it that all mothers arealike; they love their sons. Naturally, you're sore and disappointednow, but I reckon that mother of yours is sore and disappointed, too. As for our going to Del Monte, I never heard of a Middleton yetthat cut and ran at a time like this, and Elizabeth and I ain'tgoing to start any precedent. "

"No, my boy, we're going to stay right here, and you're going tostay here with us. There's lots of good times ahead for you andElizabeth, and in the meantime, I want you to be mighty sweet tothat mother of yours. She's the only mother you've got, boy. Youdon't know what it means for us old folks to be disappointed in ourchildren. Now, don't disappoint me, lad. You be nice to that motherof yours, and keep on loving Elizabeth, and it will all come right, you see if it don't. If it don't come one way, it will come another;you can take my word for it. " As if Dad knew anything about it. Hethought then that every woman possessed a sweet mind and a lovingheart; he thinks so now. But one glimpse of Blakely's mother wasenough for me. She had a heart of stone; everything about her wasmilitant, uncompromising; her eyes were of a piercing, steely blue;the gowns she wore were insolently elegant; she radiated a superbself-satisfaction. When she looked at you through her lorgnette, youfelt as if you were on trial for your life. When she ceased looking, you knew you were sentenced to mount the social scaffold. If ithadn't been for Blakely and Dad, I should have died of rage duringthe first two weeks of our stay in Santa Barbara. 

It was a cruel position for me, and it didn't make it easier thatbefore we had been there three days the whole hotel was talkingabout it. Of course, every woman in the hotel who had been snubbedby Blakely's mother instantly took my part, and as there were onlytwo women who hadn't been snubbed by her--Mrs. Tudor Carstairs andMrs. Sanderson-Spear--I was simply overwhelmed with unsolicitedadvice and undesirable attention. Indeed, it was all I could do tosteer a dignified course between that uncompromising Scylla, Blakely's mother, and the compromising Charybdis of my self-electedchampions. But I managed it, somehow. Dad bought me a stunning bigautomobile in Los Angeles, and Blakely taught me how to run it;then, Blakely was awfully fond of golf; and we spent loads of timeat the Country Club. And of course there was the palace on the hillto be inspected every little while. 

Poor Blakely! How he did hate it all! Again and again he begged Dadto give his consent to our marrying at once. But Dad, as unconsciousof what was going on round him as a two-months-old baby, wouldalways insist that everything would come out all right. 

"Give her time, my boy, " he would say, "give her time. Your motherisn't used to our Western way of rushing things, and she wants alittle time to get used to it. "

"What if she never gets used to it?" Blakely would ask. 

Then Dad would answer: "You're impatient, boy; all lovers areimpatient. Don't I know?"

"But things can't go on this way forever. "

"Of course they can't, " Dad would agree. "When I think things havegone long enough, I'll have a little talk with your mother myself. She's a dashed fine-looking woman, your mother--a dashedfine-looking woman! Be patient with her, boy. "

Poor Dad! Blakely and I were resolved that he should never have thatlittle talk he spoke of with so much confidence. Ideals are awfullyin the way sometimes, but nobody with a speck of decency can bear tostand by and see them destroyed. Dad's deals had to be preserved atany price. 

Chapter Eight

And so another two weeks passed. Then, one day, a comet of amazingbrilliancy shot suddenly into our social orbit, and things happened. That this interesting stellar phenomenon was a Russian grand duke, anephew of the Czar, but added to the piquancy of the situation. 

The hotel was all in a flutter; the manager was beside himself withjoy; bell-boys danced jig steps in the corridors; chambermaids wentabout with a distracted air--and all because the grand duke, Alexander Melovich, was to arrive on the morrow. It was anepoch-making event. It was better than a circus, for it was free. Copiesof the Almanach de Gotha appeared, as if by magic. Everybody wasinterested. Everybody was charmed, until--

The rumor flew rapidly along the verandas. It was denied by the headwaiter, it was confirmed by the chief clerk; it was referred to themanager himself and again confirmed. Alas, it was true! The GrandDuke Alexander was coming, not to honor the hotel, but to honor Mrs. Carmichael Porter; she would receive him as her guest, she would paythe royal hotel bill, she would pay the bills of the royal suite. Yes, Blakely's mother had captured the grand duke. 

A wave of indignation swept the columns of the rank and file. Theydidn't want the grand duke themselves, but they didn't wantBlakely's mother to have him; Blakely's mother and Mrs. Sanderson-Spear, and Mrs. Tudor Carstairs. In a way, it was better than acomic opera; it was fearfully amusing. 

The grand duke, accompanied, according to the newspapers, "by theRoyal Suite and the Choicest Flower of San Francisco Society, "arrived on a special train direct from Del Monte. Having captured agrand duke, these "Choicest Flowers" (ten in number) were loath tolose him, so they accompanied him. They did more; they paid for thespecial train. Blakely's mother greeted them, one and all, in a mostfriendly manner. There was an aristocratic air about the wholeproceeding that was distinctly uplifting. 

And now began a round of gaieties, the first being a tea were realRussian samovars were in evidence, and sandwiches of real Russiancaviar were served. Real Russian cigarettes were smoked, realRussian vodka was sipped; the Czar's health was drunk; no bombs werethrown, no bonds were offered for sale, the Russian loan was notdiscussed; the Japanese servants were not present, having been givena half holiday. Oh, it was a little triumph, that tea! Blakely'smother was showered with congratulations. The "Choicest Flowers"vied with one another in assurances of their distinguished approval. 

Indeed, they were all crazy about it--except the grand duke. Blakelysaid the grand duke was bored to death, and that he had led him offto the bar and given him a whisky-and-soda out of sheer pity. Fromthat time on the duke stuck to him like a postage stamp, so thatBlakely had an awful time escaping that night to dine with Dad andme. He told us all about the tea at dinner, and I was surprised tolearn (I hadn't seen him yet) that the duke was just Blakely's age, and, as Blakely put it, "a very decent sort. " Not that there is anyreason why a grand duke shouldn't be a decent sort, but Rumor wasbusy just then proclaiming that this particular grand duke was aperfect pig. 

The next day I had a chance to judge for myself. It seems the dukenoticed me as I got into my automobile for my morning ride, andafter finding out who I was, sent for Blakely and demanded that I bepresented to him. 

Blakely was awfully angry. He said: "Look here, I don't know whatyou've been used to, but in this country, where a man wishes to meeta young lady, he asks to be presented to her. Not only that, but hedoesn't take it for granted that she'll be honored by the request. Miss Middleton is my fiancee. I don't know whether she cares to meetyou or not. If she does, I'll let you know. " The duke was terriblymortified. He apologized beautifully. 

Then Blakely apologized for getting angry, and they became betterfriends than ever, with the result that the duke was presented to methat very afternoon. 

The Grand Duke Alexander was short and fat and fair, with a yellowmustache of the Kaiser Wilhelm variety. It was rather a shock to me, for I had expected a dashing black-haired person with flashing eyesand a commanding presence. No, he wasn't at all my idea of what agrand duke should look like; he looked much more like a littlebrother to the ox (a well-bred, well-dressed, bath-loving littlebrother, of course) than a member of an imperial family. Not that hedidn't have his points: he had nice hands and nice feet, and hissmile was charming. 

You should have seen his face light up when he found I spoke French. The poor fellow wasn't a bit at home in the English language and theeagerness with which he plunged into French was really pathetic. Luckily, Blakely spoke French, too--not very well, but he understoodit lots better than he spoke it--so we three spent a pleasant hourtogether on the veranda. Of course, in a way, it was a littletriumph for me; the women whom Blakely's mother had snubbed enjoyedthe sight immensely, and when she appeared, accompanied by Mrs. Sanderson-Spear and some of the "Choicest Flowers, " and saw what washappening to her duke, she was too angry for words. Heavens, howthat woman did hate me that afternoon!

The next morning six more "Choicest Flowers" arrived from SanFrancisco (rare orchids whose grandfathers had come over fromIreland in the steerage). The third son of an English baronet whoowned a chicken-ranch near Los Angeles and a German count who soldRhine wines to the best families also appeared; for that nightBlakely's mother was to give such a dinner as had never before beengiven in Santa Barbara. 

Under the heading:

SANTA BARBARA NOW THE MOST COSMOPOLITAN CITY IN AMERICA

an enterprising Los Angeles newspaper devoted a whole page to thecoming event. Adjective was piled on adjective, split infinitive onsplit infinitive. The dinner was to be given in the ballroom of thehotel. . . . The bank accounts of the assembled guests would total$400, 000, 000. . . . The terrapin had been specially imported fromBaltimore. . . . The decorations were to be magnificent beyond thewildest dream. . . . The duke was to sit on the right of hishostess. . . . Mr. Sanderson-Spear, the Pierpont Morgan ofPennsylvania, who would arrive that morning from Pittsburg in hisprivate car, would sit on her left. . . . Count Boris Beljaski, intimate friend and traveling companion of the grand duke, wouldappear in the uniform of the imperial guard. . . . The BaronessReinstadt was hurrying from San Diego, in her automobile. . . . As awinter resort, Santa Barbara was, as usual, eclipsing Florida, etc. , . . . Blakely and I read the paper together; we laughed over ittill we cried. 

"It would be lots funnier if it wasn't my mother who was making sucha holy show of herself, " Blakely said. "Do you know, my dear--"

He was silent for a moment. When he did speak, there was a wickedgleam in his eyes. "By Jove, " he cried, "I'll do it!"

"Do what?" I asked. 

"Oh, nothing much. I'll tell you all about it later--if there'sanything to tell. Now I must run away. Good-by, dear. "

Chapter Nine

At a quarter to four I received a note from Blakely saying it wouldbe impossible for him to come in to tea as he had planned. It wasthe first time he had ever broken an engagement with me, and I was awee bit unhappy over it, though I knew, of course, there must besome good reason why he couldn't come. Still, his absence rather putme out of humor with tea, so I sent Valentine for a box ofchocolates. When she returned I sat down with them and a novel, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon alone. 

The novel wasn't half as silly as some I've read--the hero remindedme of Blakely--and the chocolates were unusually good; I was havinga much better time than I had expected. Then some one knocked at thedoor. 

"Bother!" I thought. "It can't be anybody I wish to see; I'll notlet them in. "

The knock, was repeated. It suddenly occurred to me that maybeBlakely had changed his plans and had come for tea after all. 

"Come in, " I called. 

The door opened slowly, and there, standing on the threshold, was-- Had I gone quite mad? I rose from my chair and staredunbelievingly--at Blakely's mother. 

"May I come in?" she asked in her even, well-bred voice. 

"Why--yes, " I faltered. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the fireplace. 

"Won't you sit down?" I asked. "No, I thank you. This is not anafternoon call, Miss Middleton, it is--But of course youunderstand. "

I didn't understand at all, and her manner of saying I did made mefurious. 

"Perhaps I am very stupid, " I said, "but I cannot imagine why youare here. "

"Do you know where my son is?"

"I do not. "

"You have no idea?"

"I have no idea where your son is, nor why you are here. "

She eyed me intently. How cold and determined she looked and howhandsome she was. 

"If I thought you were telling the truth--"

"Mrs. Porter!"

She handed me a letter. "Please read that, " she said. 

"I will not read it, " I replied. "I must beg that you leave me. "

"There, there, child, I did not mean to be rude. "

"You are more than rude, you are insolent. "

"I am distracted, child. Please read the letter. "

"Very well, " I said, "I'll read it. "

This was the letter:

"MY DEAR MOTHER: This will be handed to you at four o'clock. Atthat hour I shall be in Ventura, accompanied by the Grand DukeAlexander, and, as we are making the trip by automobile, it may bethat we shall neither of us return in time for your dinner thisevening. "

"If, however, on reading this you will wire me at Ventura your fullconsent to my marriage with Miss Middleton, I think I can guaranteethat your dinner party will be a success. "

"I shall be in Ventura till half past four. Should I fail to hearfrom you by that time, we shall continue our journey toward LosAngeles as fast as our six-cylinders will take us. "

"It grieves me more than I can tell you to employ this cavaliermethod against you, but my softer appeals have been in vain. "

"While not a party to the plot, the duke, I find is something of aphilosopher; I do not look for any resistance on his part. If hedoes resist, so much the worse for him. "

"Your affectionate son, BLAKELY PORTER. "

"P. S. Please do not think that Miss Middleton has any knowledge ofthis plan. She has not. "

"P. S. Remember! We leave Ventura for Los Angeles at 4:50 p. M. Sharp. "

"Mrs. Porter, " I said when I had finished reading the letter, "I amdeeply humiliated that Blakely should have done this. "

"Still, I suppose you would marry him if I gave my consent. "

"I would not, " I replied hotly. "I might marry him without yourconsent, for I love him dearly; but I would never consider you hadgiven your consent if it were forced from you by trickery. "

"You wouldn't?"

"I would not. "

"But if he doesn't bring the duke back my dinner will be ruined. "

"I will telegraph him myself, " I said. 

"Supposing he won't come?"

"Blakely will come if I ask him to. "

"And you will do this for me?"

"No; I am not doing it for you. "

"Then why--"

"Because I cannot bear to have Blakely act so ungenerously towardhis mother. "

"He has but used my own weapons against me, " she remarkedthoughtfully. 

"Your weapons are quite unworthy of him, Mrs. Porter. " "The telegrammust be dispatched at once, " she announced, glancing impatiently ather watch. 

"If you will call the office and ask them to send up a boy with someforms, I will think over what I wish to say, " I said. 

When the boy arrived I had decided upon my message. It was:

"BLAKELY PORTER, Ventura. "

"If you do not return at once with your captive I shall considerthat we have never met. "

"ELIZABETH. "

I wrote it out on a form and handed it to Mrs. Porter. "Will thatdo?" I asked. 

She read it at a glance. "Yes, " she said, "it will do. Here, boy, see that this is rushed. "

"I'm glad it was satisfactory, " I said. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter. "

"My dear girl. . . . . "

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Porter. "

Still she did not go. I realized her predicament, and was childishenough to enjoy it, for Blakely's mother could not bear to accept afavor from a social inferior. Had I been a child, she would havepatted me on the head and presented me with a sugar plum. As mattersstood she was quite at sea; she wished to do something gracious--shedidn't know how. 

To make her position more impossible, who should come stalking intothe room but Dad, --dear, unsuspecting Dad. When he saw Mrs. Porterhe immediately jumped at a whole row of conclusions. 

"Well, well well!" he said. "This is a sight that does me good. I'mvery glad indeed to see you, Mrs. Porter. Your son has had an ideathat you were opposed to meeting Elizabeth; but I knew he couldn'tbe right. And here you are; calling on her? Well, well, well!Elizabeth, haven't you any tea to offer Blakely's mother!"

"Mrs. Porter was just leaving, " I managed to say. "She has been heresome time. "

Dad beamed on us both. 

"I told Blakely, Elizabeth couldn't marry him until you consented, "he blundered on, "but now I suppose it is all arranged. Thesechildren of ours are wonderfully impatient. I'm as fond of Blakelyas if he were my own son, and you'll feel the same about Elizabethwhen you've known her longer. "

"Don't let Dad keep you, Mrs. Porter, " I said. "I'm sure you havemany things to attend to. "

Blakely's mother who had been standing like one in a dream, now wokeup. 

"Yes, " she said, "I must be going. I called informally on Elizabethto beg you both to come to my dinner to-night. "

"I told her we couldn't possibly come, " I began. "Nonsense! Ofcourse we can come, " Dad declared. "It will quite upset Blakely ifyou don't come, and I shall be so disappointed. "

"There, there, " said Dad, "you're not going to disappoint Blakely'smother by refusing. "

"No, " I replied. "If Mrs. Porter really wants us we shall bedelighted to come. "

"If either of you fails me it will make me most unhappy, " she said, and there was a note of sincerity, in her voice that wasunmistakable. 

"Thank you, " I murmured. "We shall not fail you. "

Chapter Ten

When Blakely returned with the grand duke, he came straight to me. What he expected was an explanation; what he actually received wasthe worst scolding of his life. But the poor boy was so apologeticand so humble, I finally relented, and kissed him, and told him allabout his mother's call, and its surprising consequences. 

"I suppose I should be grateful, " I said, "but the idea of going tothe ducal dinner fills me with rage. "

"Let's be ill, and dine together. "

"I can't, I've given my word. And then there's Dad; he feels nowthat all the prophecies he has uttered in regard to your mother haveat last come true. It's only my wicked pride that's talking, dear. Please don't pay any attention to it. "

And then Blakely said one of the sweetest things he ever said to me. Of course, it wasn't true but it made me so happy. "Dearest, " hesaid "everything I should love best to be, you are. "

Before dressing for dinner, Dad came to my room "to talk thingsover, " as he put it. He was so superbly satisfied with himself andthe world, I could hardly forbear a smile. 

"Naturally, I should be the last person to say 'I told you so', Elizabeth, but you see what patience has done. It is always best tobe patient, my child. "

"Yes, Dad. " "Blakely's mother has acted very handsomely toward us, considering--"

"Very handsomely, CONSIDERING, " I agreed. 

"And we must try to meet her half way. " "Yes, Dad. "

"No doubt she had her reasons for behaving as she did. "

"I'm sure of it. "

"You see, my dear, I've understood the situation from the veryfirst. "

"You sweet old simpleton, of course you have! But here it is halfpast seven, and you haven't begun to dress. Be off with you. "

Although, at first, I had felt it would be all but impossible for meto attend Mrs. Porter's dinner, my talk with Blakely had so raisedmy spirits that now I was able to face the ordeal with somethingvery like serenity. What did it matter? What did anything matter, solong as Blakely loved me? Then, too, I knew I was looking my verybest; my white lace gown was a dream; Valentine had never done myhair so becomingly. 

When Blakely called at our rooms for Dad and me, I was not at allunhappy. And the dear boy was so relieved to see it! I will confess, however, to one moment of real terror as we approached the drawingroom where we were to join our hostess. But her greeting was mostcordial and reassuring. And when she begged me to stand up with her, and help her receive her guests, I almost felt at home, for I knewit meant her surrender was unconditional. 

After, that, it was like a beautiful dream. Except that some of the"Choicest Flowers" of San Francisco society were fearfully andfashionably late, nothing occurred to disturb the social atmosphere. And when, on entering the dining room, I saw how the guests wereplaced, I could have hugged Blakely's mother. For where do yousuppose she had put Dad? On her left! Of course the duke, as guestof honor, was on her right; and I sat next to the duke, and Blakelysat next to me. 

By placing us so, Mrs. Porter had supplied the balance of the tablewith a topic of conversation, always a desirable addition to adinner party; I noted with amusement the lifted eyebrows, theexpressions of wonder and resentment on the faces of some of theguests. Nor did it seem to add to their pleasure that their hostessdevoted herself to Dad, while the duke and Blakely developed aspirited, though friendly, rivalry as to which should monopolizelittle Mimi. 

But the real sensation was to occur when the champagne was poured. (I could hardly believe my eyes, of my ears, either). For who shouldrise in his place but Dad! Yes, there he stood, the old darling, abrimming champagne glass in his hand, a beatific expression on hisface. And this is what he was saying:

"Our hostess has asked me to do something, which is to announce theengagement of my daughter and her son. Let us drink to theirhappiness. "

"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "I give the American three cheers: Rah, rah, rah!" "How delightfully boyish the dear Duke is, " observed Mrs. Sanderson-Spear, beaming at him from across the table. 

"So ingenious, I mean so ingenuous, " assented a languid lady fromSan Francisco. "But we must stand up; toute le monde is standing up, my dear. "

And so it was, standing up to drink our healths, Blakely's and mine, while Blakely held my hand under the table. 

"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "It ees delightful. I cannot make thespeech, mais, mademoiselle, monsieur--I drink your health. " Hedrained his glass, then flung it, with a magnificent gesture, overhis shoulder. "It ees so we drink to royalty, " he said. 

Such a noble example naturally had its effect; there followed aperfect shower of glasses. Indeed, I think every one at tableindulged in this pretty piece of extravagance except the third sonof an English baronet, who was too busy explaining how it was doneat home: "Purely a British custom, you understand--the wardroom of aman-of-war, d'ye see. --They were officers of a Scotch regiment, andthey drank it standing on their chairs, with one foot on the table. And, by gad, I didn't care for it!"--No doubt I should have learnedmore concerning this purely British custom if the Pierpont Morgan ofPennsylvania hadn't called on Blakely for a speech, just then. PoorBlakely! He didn't know at all how to make a speech. Thought I mustsay I was rather glad of it; the most tiresome thing about Americansis their eternal speechmaking, I think. 

Blakely having faltered his few words of thanks, some one proposedthe duke's health; but that had to wait till new glasses werebrought in and filled. Altogether, then, instead of being a solemn, dignified affair, such as one might have expected, it was atremendously jolly dinner--a little rowdy, perhaps, but delightfullyfriendly. If I had entered the dining room as Old Tom Middleton'sdaughter, "who actually used to live over a livery stable, my dear, "it was not so I left it; for the nimbus of the sacred name of Porterhad already begun to shed its beautiful light on my many graces andsocial accomplishments. Indeed, when I retired with my hostess tothe drawing room, it was to hold a sort of reception; Mrs. TudorCarstairs vied with Mrs. Sanderson-Spear in assurances of regard, "Choicest Flowers" expressed approval, the German baroness, blessher, conferred the distinction of a motherly kiss. And Blakely'smother was so gracious, so kind and considerate, it was hard tobelieve we had faced each other, five hours before, with somethingvery like hatred in our eyes. 

When Blakely and Dad, and the other men joined us, I was so happy Icould have kicked both my slippers to the ceiling. I might havedisgraced myself doing it, too, if the third son of the Englishbaronet hadn't come up just then to felicitate me. He would havedone it charmingly if he hadn't felt constrained to add thatAmericans always say "dook" instead of "duke, " that nobody presentseemed to realize the proper way to address a nephew of the Czar wasto call him Monseigneur, that the Olympic games in London had beenconducted admirably, arid that he didn't believe in marriage, anyway. 

But the sweetest thing to me of all that wonderful evening was tosee the love and gratitude in Blakely's eyes when he looked at hismother; for a man who doesn't love his mother misses much, and Ilove Blakely so tenderly, I couldn't bear to have him miss the lastthen that makes for contentment and happiness. 

Chapter Eleven

When I awoke, late next morning, it was to find myself, if notfamous, at least conspicuous; in the Los Angeles newspaper Valentinebrought me with my coffee, much space was devoted to the ducaldinner. 

GRAND DUKE SMASHES CHAMPAGNE GLASSES

Miss Middleton Toasted in Truly Royal Fashion by DistinguishedNephew of Russia's Reigning Czar. 

Brilliant Dinner Reaches Climax in Shower of Costly Crystal WhileHostess Smiles Approval. 

Disgusting as it was, I couldn't help laughing at the pen-and-inksketch which accompanied it--a sketch of the duke, with crownedhead, and breast covered with decorations, smiling fatuously fromwithin a rakish border of broken champagne glasses. 

But there was worse to come. On another page under the heading:

WHIRLWIND WOOING WINS WESTERN GIRL

a distorted Cupid supported pictures of Blakely and me, whilebeneath our pictures, a most fulsome chronicle of untruths waspresented. "Mr. Porter first met his fiancee on shipboard. . . . . Being of that fine old New York stock which never takes 'no' for ananswer, he followed her to Santa Barbara. . . . . If rumor is to becredited, the Grand Duke Alexander, as well as Cupid, was concernedin this singularly up-to-date love affair. . . . . Mr. Porter's sister, the Countess de Bienville, is a well-known leader in exclusiveParisian circles. . . . . Miss Middleton an only daughter of ThomasMiddleton, the mining magnate. . . . . Although slightly indisposed, His Imperial Highness granted an interview to our representativelate last evening. If the time-worn adage, in vino veritas, is to bebelieved; it is certain that the wedding will not only take placesoon, but that the favorite nephew of the Czar of all the Russiaswill himself appear in this charming romance of throbbing hearts, playing the role of best man. "

It was really too dreadful; my cheeks burned with mortification andanger. 

People had assured me the horrid little American newspaper publishedin Paris was not typical of America--that it was no more than a paidpanderer to seekers after notoriety. Yet here in California, my owndear California, a newspaper had dared print my picture without myconsent, had thrown its ugly light on the sweet story of my loveserving it up in yellow paragraphs for the benefit of the bootblack, the butcher, the waiter in cheap restaurants. What a hideous world!

Pleading a sick headache, I stayed in my room till tea time. 

We had tea at five, Blakely and I, on the roof of the hotel. Ilooked across the channel to the distant islands, followed the sweetcontour of the shore, watched the aimless flight of sea-gulls;turning, I scanned the friendly hills, the mountains painted in thetender colors of late afternoon--I looked into Blakely's eyes. Itwas a beautiful world, after all. "Let's try and forget that awfulnewspaper, " I said. 

"I forgot it long ago, dear. "

"You also seem to have forgotten that some one may appear anyminute. "

"Let's try and forget that some one may appear any minute. "

"I can't. "

"You shouldn't say 'I can't, ' Elizabeth; you should say 'I'll try'. "

It is really surprising what one can do when one tries. 

Chapter Twelve

"What would we have done with-out the duke`?" I murmured a momentlater. 

"There's a more important question than that to be answered, " saidBlakely; "we have still to decide what we shall do with the duke. "

"I don't understand. "

"It's my charming way of breaking news gently, sweetheart. "

"Bad news?"

"Not exactly. It may annoy you. "

"It annoys me that you seems afraid to tell it, " I said. 

"I'm not afraid, not the least bit. I'm a little ashamed, though. You see mother is. . . . . "

"Don't dare adopt an apologizing attitude towards your mother. Hasn't she done everything in the world for us?"

"There are some things one would rather do for oneself, girlie. Ihad quite set my heart on Perry Arnold being best man at ourwedding. "

"And so he shall be. "

"I wrote him a week ago, and his answer came this morning. He wasdelighted, poor chap! He's in Denver, now, and could be here inthree days. " "You won't need him for three months, " I warned. "Butwhy can't you have him, dear?"

"Because mother has already engaged the duke in that capacity. "

"Not really?"

"It's the gospel truth. Perry will think me no end of a snob. Iwon't know what explanation to make. "

"Nonsense! I'll explain it to him myself. "

"Then you feel I ought to accept mother's arrangements?"

"You must, if it will make her happy. "

"She assured me she would be most miserable if I didn't. "

"Then it's settled, " I said. 

"That's not all, Elizabeth; the duke is sailing for Japan on thetwenty-sixth of February. "

"And this is the twentieth!" I gasped. 

"Yes, sweetheart. And mother has arranged our wedding for thetwenty-fourth. "

I was silent from sheer indignation. 

"I told mother you wouldn't like it. But will you. . . . . ? Do you. . . . . ?Would you mind very much being married on the twenty-fourth?"

"Would you mind?" I asked. 

"Mind? I should love it above everything! Life is so uncertain, eachday is so precious, and I've waited so long for you, Elizabeth. "

"You've only known me a little over a month. "

"But I've waited years for you;"

"Yes, " I said, "I believe you have: It shall be as you wish, dear. "

And then, as a woman's greatest happiness lies in making the man sheloves happy, and as no one ever looked so radiantly happy asBlakely, I was so glad I had said "yes, " I didn't know what to do. 

But Blakely knew exactly what to do; he kissed me.