Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-03-12

Buckley found no fault with it. Emanating
from the beautiful, not to say rich, Miss
Milburn, it seemed to him a sufficient re-
ward and he bowed himself off in glow of
satisfaction.
3Glory bel" sighed Ann.
"Amen!" said her aunt piously.
And then Buckley-stil glowing, still dip
lomatic, still spouting information came
back, at just occurred to me-" he stated in
discreet accents, leaning across the rail, "that
you might want to know who's who among
your immediate neighbors. The people on
your left are in champagne; their cellars are
one of the show places of Rheims. Your
right hand neighbor is a Marquise of the old
stock, the Faubourg St. German type;
while just back of you, by way of contrast,
is grandson of one of Napoleon's Marshals.
But the parsonage l wanted particularly to
point out has just come into box over near
the center. Don't turn now, Miss M1lburn,
for he seems to be struck by your profile; but
by and by reconnoiter for tallish chap with
pale face and brown eyes, who looks as if
he owned the earth. He is related to half
the royal houses of Europe, and has pedigree
that makes your head spin to trace. He's an
Austrian subject but his estates lie mainly in
lower Hungary, and he is Servian in descent.
He is Prince here, Duke there, Count
somewhere else, grandee in Spain, and
few other trifes, and, to top off with, has a
very respectable claim to a Balkan throne.
Now I'm really going. An revoir."
"But YOU haven't told us his name" said
Mrs. Blair.
"His full name is too long to recite in one
afternoon" laughed Buckley; "but for short
he's called Rodoslav, Prince Rodoslav."
Ann bided her time. After ALL there is
something piquant in the knowledge that a
Prince finds your profile interesting. In
| such matters even the judgment of the man
in the street is not to be despised, while that
of Prince Prince is doubtless a
connoisseur of profles. Normal women are
incurable romanticists, and Ann was more
normal than she knew. An aeroplane doub
ling the nearest pylon gave her her oppor-
tunity, and she embraced it with the conf
dence that had characterized her indirect
survey of Oliver Page in the cathedral. But
she had to do with more experienced an
tagonist now. He was waiting for her to
turn, this cousin Of half Europe with an eye
for profles, and pierced her armor with
look that sent her to the right about, flush
ing with such prodigal outpouring of color
as she hoped she had long since outgrown.
But this was not all. There was more than
mere amusement in his regard. There was
| reCOSn1l1On 100, 1Or Cfl1S pOSSeSSOI OF many
titles was also the dreaming boulevardier
she had that morning seen pay military
homage to Jeanne dare.
TT was this flood of vexing self conscious
1 ness that gave unintentional warmth to
her greeting of Virginia Truscott. She did
not altogether approve of Mrs Truscott.
Too striking IN dress, too pronounced in
manner, too emphatic in her amusements,
too obviously rich, too lavish of bad French,
she summed up dozen ford defects which
may crop out in any nation, but which
Europe fondly assumes are specially trans
atlantic. The assertive pass as the typical
and, viewed from the outside, the American
| Colony in Paris seemed to find its apt ex-
ponent in Mrs. Truscott. Her dinners, her
opera parties, her bridge, her golf prizes, her
yacht, her motors, her jaunts to Trouville,
| Cadenabbia, and the Riviera, secured the
most extended notice in the columns that
deemed such matters news. Spying them
| from the promenade, as ske passed with the
retired stockbroker known to fame as @Vir-
ginia Truscott's husband" she whirled
tempestuously up the steps to their box and,
under cover of AIMS confusion and Mrs.
Blair's surprise, showered the embraces of
an intimate friend.
"You dear people!" she cried. @Why