“I feel rather sorry for them,” Miss Morris said, looking at the group with an amused smile.  “Etiquette cuts them off from so much innocent amusement.  Now, you are a gentleman, and the Duke presumably is, and why should you not go over and say, `Your Highness, I wish you would present me to your sister, whom I am to meet at dinner to-morrow night.  I admire her very much,’ and then you could point out the historical features to her, and show her where they have finished off a blue and green tiled wall with a rusty tin roof, and make pretty speeches to her.  It wouldn’t hurt her, and it would do you a lot of good.  The simplest way is always the best way, it seems to me.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Carlton.  “Suppose he came over here and said:  `Carlton, I wish you would present me to your young American friend.  I admire her very much,’ I would probably say:  `Do you?  Well, you will have to wait until she expresses some desire to meet you.’  No; etiquette is all right in itself, only some people don’t know its laws, and that is the one instance to my mind where ignorance of the law is no excuse.”

Carlton left Miss Morris talking with the Secretary of the American Legation, and went to look for Mrs. Downs.  When he returned he found that the young Secretary had apparently asked and obtained permission to present the Duke’s equerries and some of his diplomatic confreres, who were standing now about her in an attentive semicircle, and pointing out the different palaces and points of interest.  Carlton was somewhat disturbed at the sight, and reproached himself with not having presented any one to her before.  He was sure now that she must have had a dull time of it; but he wished, nevertheless, that if she was to meet other men, the Secretary had allowed him to act as master of ceremonies.

“I suppose you know,” that gentleman was saying as Carlton came up, “that when you pass by Abydos, on the way to Athens, you will see where Leander swam the Hellespont to meet Hero.  That little white light-house is called Leander in honor of him.  It makes rather an interesting contrast—­does it not?—­to think of that chap swimming along in the dark, and then to find that his monument to-day is a lighthouse, with revolving lamps and electric appliances, and with ocean tramps and bridges and men-of-war around it.  We have improved in our mechanism since then,” he said, with an air, “but I am afraid the men of to-day don’t do that sort of thing for the women of to-day.”

“Then it is the men who have deteriorated,” said one of the equerries, bowing to Miss Morris; “it is certainly not the women.”

The two Americans looked at Miss Morris to see how she received this, but she smiled good-naturedly.

“I know a man who did more than that for a woman,” said Carlton, innocently.  “He crossed an ocean and several countries to meet her, and he hasn’t met her yet.”

Miss Morris looked at him and laughed, in the safety that no one understood him but herself.