“I do,” said Carlton.  “Because I like her picture, and because she is a Princess.”

“Well, upon my word,” said Miss Morris, gazing at him with evident admiration, “that’s what my younger brother would call a distinctly sporting proposition.  Only I don’t see,” she added, “what her being a Princess has to do with it.”

“You don’t?” laughed Carlton, easily.  “That’s the best part of it—­that’s the plot.  The beauty of being in love with a Princess, Miss Morris,” he said, “lies in the fact that you can’t marry her; that you can love her deeply and forever, and nobody will ever come to you and ask your intentions, or hint that after such a display of affection you ought to do something.  Now, with a girl who is not a Princess, even if she understands the situation herself, and wouldn’t marry you to save her life, still there is always some one—­a father, or a mother, or one of your friends—­who makes it his business to interfere, and talks about it, and bothers you both.  But with a Princess, you see, that is all eliminated.  You can’t marry a Princess, because they won’t let you.  A Princess has got to marry a real royal chap, and so you are perfectly ineligible and free to sigh for her, and make pretty speeches to her, and see her as often as you can, and revel in your devotion and unrequited affection.”

Miss Morris regarded him doubtfully.  She did not wish to prove herself too credulous.  “And you honestly want me, Mr. Carlton, to believe that you are going abroad just for this?”

“You see,” Carlton answered her, “if you only knew me better you would have no doubt on the subject at all.  It isn’t the thing some men would do, I admit, but it is exactly what any one who knows me would expect of me.  I should describe it, having had acquaintance with the young man for some time, as being eminently characteristic.  And besides, think what a good story it makes!  Every other man who goes abroad this summer will try to tell about his travels when he gets back to New York, and, as usual, no one will listen to him.  But they will have to listen to me. `You’ve been across since I saw you last.  What did you do?’ they’ll ask, politely.  And then, instead of simply telling them that I have been in Paris or London, I can say, `Oh, I’ve been chasing around the globe after the Princess Aline of Hohenwald.’  That sounds interesting, doesn’t it?  When you come to think of it,” Carlton continued, meditatively, “it is not so very remarkable.  Men go all the way to Cuba and Mexico, and even to India, after orchids, after a nasty flower that grows in an absurd way on the top of a tree.  Why shouldn’t a young man go as far as Germany after a beautiful Princess, who walks on the ground, and who can talk and think and feel?  She is much more worth while than an orchid.”

Miss Morris laughed indulgently.  “Well, I didn’t know such devotion existed at this end of the century,” she said; “it’s quite nice and encouraging.  I hope you will succeed, I am sure.  I only wish we were going to be near enough to see how you get on.  I have never been a confidante when there was a real Princess concerned,” she said; “it makes it so much more amusing.  May one ask what your plans are?”