“There’s nothing half such fun!” cried Beth. “Were you Wellington? I suppose a boy has to play he’s a soldier, and, of course, Waterloo is splendid. But I’m always Mary Queen of Scots, or something--’most always Queen Mary.” “Dear me, don’t you ever make believe you’re an American hero--heroine?” asked the young man. “Nothing could have persuaded me to be anything but an Englishman in my assumed parts. Like the gentleman in Pinafore, don’t you know? “‘In spite of all temptations To belong to other nations He was an Englishman.’” The young man sang these words in a low voice, mellow and pleasant in tone. “Do you think I’m not patriotic?” asked Beth, looking troubled. “Really and truly I am! But you know all those early days my ancestors were in England, so they belong to me just as much as they do to--to Lady Harrowdene! Of course I had a grandfather, great-great-greatest--who fought at Bunker Hill, though.” “That wasn’t on the British side, I suppose?” the young man inquired innocently. “No, it wasn’t,” Beth admitted. “But if the king had only understood he’d have seen we were good Englishmen when we wanted our rights, my teacher says.” “It’s good of you to be so generous to the memory of King George!” This time the young man laughed with his head thrown back in high glee. “What makes you so keen for olden days, little Miss Beth?” “They’re so interesting,” said Beth promptly. “Knights and courts and princesses and princes! Of course I love the United States best; it _is_ best, but we haven’t anything but men and women, or a general, or president. When you just say ‘prince,’ doesn’t it sound splendid? And Your Royal Highness! Oh, it is much nicer to play about princesses and princes!” “Ah, here you are, prince!” cried a new voice at the back of the gallery. “We’ve looked everywhere for you.” Natalie and Alys looked around. Three ladies, still masked, stood there. Beth sat absolutely still. “Prince!” What did it mean? But, yes! Uncle Jim had said that there was a royal prince visiting New York in whose honor this ball was given. It must be he, this pleasant-faced, friendly young man to whom she had been talking freely of her plays, Bunker Hill--oh, what had she said? Beth was so frightened that she could not remember. The prince had risen, looking like a schoolboy in April, caught going fishing instead of to school. “I stole away,” he said. “I wanted to see that wonderfully beautiful scene from above and as a whole, not as an actor in it. Don’t scold me, duchess! I found companions, also watching the ball. Duchess, ladies--I do not know who the other two masks conceal--this is the Lady Alys Dudley, of our gracious sovereign, Queen Elizabeth’s court. This is Susanna Shakespeare and Hamnet. And this is Judith Shakespeare. Lady Alys and children of the poet, this is her ladyship, the Duchess of Ravenspur.”