_You_ are a real 'King,' bigger than any crowned head, because you can do just as you like, and you are not the servant of Governments or peoples.

I am sure you must be the happiest man in the world!" She plucked off a rose from a flowering rose-tree near her, and began to wrench out its petals with a quick, nervous movement.

Helmsley watched her with a vague sense of annoyance.
"I am no more happy," he said suddenly, "than that rose you are picking to pieces, though it has never done you any harm." She started, and flushed,--then laughed.
"Oh, the poor little rose!" she exclaimed--"I'm sorry! I've had so many roses to-day, that I don't think about them.

I suppose it's wrong." "It's not wrong," he answered quietly; "it's merely the fault of those who give you more roses than you know how to appreciate." She looked at him inquiringly, but could not fathom his expression.
"Still," he went on, "I would not have your life deprived of so much as one rose.

And there is a very special rose that does not grow in earthly gardens, which I should like you to find and wear on your heart, Lucy,--I hope I shall see you in the happy possession of it before I die,--I mean the rose of love." She lifted her head, and her eyes shone coldly.
"Dear Mr.Helmsley," she said, "I don't believe in love!" A flash of amazement, almost of anger, illumined his worn features.
"You don't believe in love!" he echoed.