which he was himself the hero.  It was a bold travesty of one of the latest romances that Boyne had read, involving the experience of an American very little older than Boyne himself, to whom a wilful young crown-princess, in a little state which Trannel would not name even to Boyne, had made advances such as he could not refuse to meet without cruelty.  He was himself deeply in love with her, but he felt bound in honor not to encourage her infatuation as long as he could help, for he had been received by her whole family with such kindness and confidence that he had to consider them.

“Oh, pshaw!” Boyne broke in upon him, doubting, and yet wishing not to doubt, “that’s the same as the story of ’Hector Folleyne’.”

“Yes,” said Trannel, quietly.  “I thought you would recognize it.”

“Well, but,” Boyne went on, “Hector married the princess!”

“In the book, yes.  The fellow I gave the story to said it would never do not to have him marry her, and it would help to disguise the fact.  That’s what he said, after he had given the whole thing away.”

“And do you mean to say it was you?  Oh, you can’t stuff me!  How did you get out of marrying her, I should like to know, when the chancellor came to you and said that the whole family wanted you to, for fear it would kill her if—­”

“Well, there was a scene, I can’t deny that.  We had a regular family conclave—­father, mother, Aunt Hitty, and all the folks—­and we kept it up pretty much all night.  The princess wasn’t there, of course, and I could convince them that I was right.  If she had been, I don’t believe I could have held out.  But they had to listen to reason, and I got away between two days.”

“But why didn’t you marry her?”

“Well, for one thing, as I told you, I thought I ought to consider her family.  Then there was a good fellow, the crown-prince of Saxe-Wolfenhutten, who was dead in love with her, and was engaged to her before I turned up.  I had been at school with him, and I felt awfully sorry for him; and I thought I ought to sacrifice myself a little to him.  But I suppose the thing that influenced me most was finding out that if I married the princess I should have to give up my American citizenship and become her subject.”

“Well?” Boyne panted.

“Well, would you have done it?”

“Couldn’t you have got along without doing that?”

“That was the only thing I couldn’t get around, somehow.  So I left.”

“And the princess, did she—­die?”

“It takes a good deal more than that to kill a fifteen-year-old princess,” said Trannel, and he gave a harsh laugh.  “She married Saxe-Wolfenhutten.”  Boyne was silent.  “Now, I don’t want you to speak of this till after I leave Scheveningen—­especially to Miss Lottie.  You know how girls are, and I think Miss Lottie is waiting to get a bind on me, anyway.  If she heard how I was cut out of my chance with that princess she’d never let me believe I gave her up of my own free will?”