“We are,” said Dirk, waving his hand toward his two sisters. “Beth’s our cousin, Beth Bristead. Are you any relation to Lady Harrowdene?” “No,” said the young man. “Not related to her; I suppose there is a connection between us.” His blue eyes twinkled and Beth wondered what the joke was which she suspected lurked somewhere in his remark. “You seem a nice quartette of young people. Beth Bristead? Another Elizabeth, I suppose?” Beth saw him look at Natalie with admiration in his eyes, but he did not address her; he probably thought her too old to dispense with the lack of an introduction. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth, but not often,” said Beth. “We’re the Shakespeare family ourselves. Natalie is Susanna, Dirk is Hamnet, I’m Hamnet’s twin sister, Judith. We had to make believe Alys was Lady Alys Dudley; we’re visiting her. We don’t know there ever was a Lady Alys Dudley, but we needed her, so we made her up. I’m sure there must have been a countess, or something, who would have had Shakespeare’s children stay with her, aren’t you?” “Certain of it,” declared their new acquaintance with conviction. “You seem a bit young to be at a ball, or you would be too young to be allowed at it in England. Miss Cortlandt--it is Miss Cortlandt?” he bowed deferentially to Natalie--“may be in society, but the others----?” He broke off, with a puzzled glance at childish Dirk and Beth. “We are not at the ball and I am only fifteen,” said Natalie with dignity. “My father begged my mother to break the rule and let us see this ball from the gallery, so here we are. We are in costume, because mama was afraid if any one came up here it would be a discord in the picture--I mean a blot on it--if we were in just our present-day frocks. So our governess designed these costumes in a hurry. We aren’t going to use our assumed names; we aren’t going to do anything but watch, but Beth couldn’t watch unless she had been fitted out with a name, so she’d feel part of it--like the right piece in a picture puzzle! She’s a queer little Coz--aren’t you, Beth?” “My word!” exclaimed the newcomer, with his hearty boyish laugh. “I believe you! But that’s the artistic impulse, to preserve the unities! I’d wager you’ve been feeling yourself the little Shakespeare girl and that when you heard Will presented to Queen Bess a few moments ago your first thought was: ‘There’s father at last!’” “Oh, how did you know!” cried Beth, embarrassed, yet pleased. The young man nodded. “It’s not so long since I was a boy,” he said. “When I go home I shall have to tell my young nieces and nephews that I found young Americans in New York caring more about our great poet than they do. When I was a small chap it was I who liked making-believe. My brothers and sisters, all but one sister, never were keen for it. I used to play at being Clive, or else Wellington.”