FullReads

“And then, perhaps, of this visit–you will also make ‘copy’?”

He smiled at her quick adaptation of his professional slang, but shook his head.

“No,” he said gravely. “No–this is YOU. The CHICAGO INTERVIEWER is big pay and is rich, but it hasn’t capital enough to buy you from me.

He gently slid his hand toward hers and slipped his fingers softly around it. She made a slight movement of withdrawal, but even then–as if in forgetfulness or indifference–permitted her hand to rest unresponsively in his. It was scarcely an encouragement to gallantry, neither was it a rejection of an unconscious familiarity.

“But you haven’t told me about yourself,” he said.

“Oh, I”–she returned, with her first approach to coquetry in a laugh and a sidelong glance, “of what importance is that to you? It is the Grand Duchess and Her Highness the Princess that you Americans seek to know. I am–what I am–as you see.”

“You bet,” said Hoffman with charming decision.

“I WHAT?”

“You ARE, you know, and that’s good enough for me, but I don’t even know your name.”

She laughed again, and after a pause, said: “Elsbeth.”

“But I couldn’t call you by your first name on our first meeting, you know.”

“Then you Americans are really so very formal–eh?” she said slyly, looking at her imprisoned hand.

“Well, yes,” returned Hoffman, disengaging it. “I suppose we are respectful, or mean to be. But whom am I to inquire for? To write to?”

“You are neither to write nor inquire.”

“What?” She had moved in her seat so as to half-face him with eyes in which curiosity, mischief, and a certain seriousness alternated, but for the first time seemed conscious of his hand, and accented her words with a slight pressure.

“You are to return to your hotel presently, and say to your landlord: ‘Pack up my luggage. I have finished with this old town and my ancestors, and the Grand Duke, whom I do not care to see, and I shall leave Alstadt tomorrow!'”

“Thank you! I don’t catch on.”

“Of what necessity should you? I have said it. That should be enough for a chivalrous American like you.” She again significantly looked down at her hand.

“If you mean that you know the extent of the favor you ask of me, I can say no more,” he said seriously; “but give me some reason for it.”

“Ah so!” she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Then 1 must tell you. You say you do not know the Grand Duke and Duchess. Well! THEY KNOW YOU. The day before yesterday you were wandering in the park, as you admit. You say, also, you got through the hedge and interrupted some ceremony. That ceremony was not a Court function, Mr. Hoffman, but something equally sacred–the photographing of the Ducal family before the Schloss. You say that you instantly withdrew. But after the photograph was taken the plate revealed a stranger standing actually by the side of the Princess Alexandrine, and even taking the PAS of the Grand Duke himself. That stranger was you!”

“And the picture was spoiled,” said the American, with a quiet laugh.

“I should not say that,” returned the lady, with a demure glance at her companion’s handsome face, “and I do not believe that the Princess–who first saw the photograph–thought so either. But she is very young and willful, and has the reputation of being very indiscreet, and unfortunately she begged the photographer not to destroy the plate, but to give it to her, and to say nothing about it, except that the plate was defective, and to take another. Still it would have ended there if her curiosity had not led her to confide a description of the stranger to the Police Inspector, with the result you know.”

“Then I am expected to leave town because I accidentally stumbled into a family group that was being photographed?”