“Do I understand that you are traveling abroad because of your unpopularity at home?” she asked.

“I am waiting for things to cool down.  As soon as the muck-rakers wear out their rakes, and the great American public finds some other kind of hysterics to keep it worked up to a proper temperature, I shall mosey back and resume business at the old stand.  But why tell you the story of my life?  Play fair now, and tell me a lot about yourself.  Where am I?”

“You are here in my father’s private garden, where you hare no right to be.”

“And father?”

“Is Count Selim Malagaski, Governor-General of Morovenia.”

“Wow!  And you?”

“I am his daughter.”

“The daughter of all that must be something.  Have you a title?”

“I am called Princess.”

“Can you beat that?  Climb up a wall to see some A-rabs perform, and find a real, sure-enough princess, and likewise, if you don’t mind my saying so, a pippin.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“A corker.”

“Corker?”

“I mean that you’re a good-looker—­that it’s no labor at all to gaze right at you.  I didn’t think they grew them so far from headquarters, but I see I’m wrong.  You are certainly all right.  Pardon me for saying this to you so soon after we meet, but I have learned that you will never break a woman’s heart by telling her that she is a beaut.”

[Illustration:  “Are you a real ingenue, or a kidder?”]

Kalora leaned back in her chair and laughed.  She was beginning to comprehend the whimsical humor of the very unusual young man.  His direct and playful manner of speech amused her, and also seemed to reassure her.  And, when he seated himself within a few inches of her elbow, fanning himself with the little straw hat, and calmly inspecting the tiny landscape of the forbidden garden, she made no protest against his familiarity, although she knew that she was violating the most sacred rules laid down for her sex.

She reasoned thus with herself: 

“To-day I have disgraced myself to the utmost, and, since I am utterly shamed, why not revel in my lawlessness?”

Besides, she wished to question this young man.  Mrs. Plumston had said to her:  “You are beautiful.”  No one else had ever intimated such a thing.  In fact, for five years she had been taunted almost daily because of her lack of all physical charms.  Perhaps she could learn the truth about herself by some adroit questioning of the young man from Pennsylvania.

“You have traveled a great deal?” she asked.

“Me and Baedeker and Cook wrote it,” he replied; and then, seeing that she was puzzled, he said:  “I have been to all of the places they keep open.”

“You have seen many women in many countries?”

“I have.  I couldn’t help it, and I’m glad of it.”

“Then you know what constitutes beauty?”