"Of course, he is in your own class," said Truxton glumly.
She hesitated an instant, her face growing very serious. "Mr. King, has no one told you my name—who I am?" she asked.
"You are the Prince's aunt, that's all I know."
"No more his aunt in reality than Jack Tullis is his uncle. I thought you understood."
"Who are you, then?"
"I am Jack Tullis's sister, a New Yorker bred and born, and I live not more than two blocks from your—"
"For the love of—" he began blankly; then words failed him, which was just as well. He gulped twice, joy or unbelief choking him. The smile that crept into her face dazzled him; he stared at her in speechless amazement. "Then—then, you are not a duchess or a—" he began again.
"Not at all. A very plain New Yorker," she said, laughing aloud in sudden hysteria. For some reason she drew quickly away from him. "You are not disappointed, are you? Does it spoil your romance to—"
"Spoil it? Disappointed? No! By George, I—I can't believe that any such luck—no, no, I don't mean it just that way! Let me think it out. Let me get it through my head." He leaned back against the wall and devoured her with eager, disturbing eyes. "You are Tullis's sister? You live near—Oh, I say, this is glorious!" He arose and took a turn about the room. In some nervousness and uncertainty she also came to her feet, watching him wonderingly. He hurried back to her, a new light in his eyes. She was very desirable, this slender, uncertain person in the crumpled grey.
"Miss Tullis," he said, a thrill in his voice, "you are a princess, just the same. I never was so happy in my life as I am this minute. It isn't so black as it was. I thought I couldn't win you because you—"