In this chair sat Miss Jennie, two open letters on her lap, and perplexity in the dainty little frown that faintly ruffled the smoothness of her fair brow.

The scene from the high balcony was one to be remembered; but, although this was her last day at the Castle, the girl saw nothing of the pretty town of Meran so far below; the distant chalk-line down the slope beyond which marked the turbulent course of the foaming Adege; the lofty mountains all around, or the further snow-peaks, dazzling white against the deep blue of the sky.
One of the epistles which lay on her lap was the letter she had received from the editor recounting the difficulties he had met with while endeavouring to make arrangements for reporting adequately the Duchess of Chiselhurst's ball; the other was the still unanswered invitation from the Duchess to the Princess.

Jennie was flattered to know that already the editor, who had engaged her with unconcealed reluctance, expected her to accomplish what the entire staff were powerless to effect.

She knew that, had she but the courage, it was only necessary to accept the invitation in the name of her present hostess, and attend the great society function as Princess von Steinheimer.

Yet she hesitated, not so much on account of the manifest danger of discovery, but because she had grown to like the Princess, and this impersonation, if it came to the knowledge of the one most intimately concerned, as it was almost sure to do, would doubtless be regarded as an unpardonable liberty.