But what will the poor girl do when
she goes on up and up and up and learns at last that there is no
eighth? She will weep like another Alexander the Great, because
there are no more heavens to hope for.
Jim led her into the best room there was up-stairs, and told her
that a duke had slept there. At first she was thrilled through.
Later it would occur to her, not tragically, yet a bit quellingly,
that, after all, she had not married a duke herself, but only a
commoner. She had as much right to a title as any other American
girl. A foreign title is part of a Yankee woman's birthright.
Hundreds of women had acquired theirs. Kedzie got only a plain
"Mr."
Still, she told herself that she must not be too critical, and she
let her enthusiasm fly. She did not have to pose before Jim, and
she ran about the suite as about a garden.
CHAPTER VIII
Kedzie was smitten with two facts: the canopied bed was raised on
a platform, and the marble bath-tub was sunk in the floor. She sat
on the bed and bounced up and down on the springs. She stared up
at the tasseled baldachin with its furled draperies, and fingered
the lace covering and the silken comforter.
She sat in the best chairs, studied the dressing-table with its
royal equipment. She went to the window and gazed out into Fifth
Avenue, reviewing its slow-flowing lava of humanity--young royalty
overlooking her subjects.
Mrs. Abby, the housekeeper, knocked and came in to be presented to
the new Princess of Wales, and to present the personal maid who had
been assigned to her.
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