Monday night I was sitting before the grate, reading for the hundredth
time Gretchen's only letter. Pembroke was buried behind the covers of
a magazine. Suddenly a yellow flame leaped from a pine log, and in it
I seemed to read all. Gretchen was proud and jealous. She believed
that I loved Phyllis and had made her a Princess because I loved her.
It was the first time I had laughed in many an hour. Pembroke looked
over his magazine.

"That sounds good. What caused it?"

"A story," I answered. "Some day I shall tell you all about it. Have
you noticed how badly I have gone about lately?"

"Have I!" he echoed. "If I haven't had a time of it, I should like to
know!"

"Well, it is all over," said I, placing a hand on his shoulder and
smiling into his questioning eyes. "Now if you will excuse me, cousin
mine, I'll make a call on her Serene Highness the Princess Hildegarde."

Just then the door opened and Pembroke's valet came in. He handed a
card to me, and I read upon it, "Count von Walden." I cast it into
Pembroke's lap.

"That's the man. He is the inseparable of the Prince of Wortumborg."
Then to the valet, "Show him up."

"What's it all about?" asked Pembroke.