“That is just what I expected, and what I supposed I could ward off. In my profession--which, after all has a great similarity to yours, except that I think we have to do more lying in ours--there must be no such word as fail. The very best excuses are listened to with tolerance, perhaps, and a shrug of the shoulders; but failure, no matter from what cause, is fell doom. I have failed. I shall not make any excuses. I will go to London and say merely, ‘The Russian police have robbed me.’ Oh, I know perfectly well who did the trick, and how it was done. Then I shall send in my resignation. They will accept it with polite words of regret, and will say to each other, ‘Poor fellow, he had a brilliant career before him, but he got drunk, or something, and fell into the ditch.’ Ah, well, we won’t talk any more about it.” “Then you don’t despise the newspaper profession, Lord Donal?” “Despise it! Bless you, no: I look up to it. Belonging myself to a profession very much lower down in the scale of morality, as I have said. But, Princess,” he added, leaning towards her, “will you resign from the newspaper if I resign from diplomacy?” The girl slowly shook her head, her eyes on the tablecloth before her. “I will telegraph my resignation,” he said impetuously, “if you will telegraph yours to your paper.” “You are feeling ill and worried this morning, Lord Donal, and so you take a pessimistic view of life. You must not resign.” “Oh, but I must. I have failed, and that is enough.” “It isn’t enough. You must do nothing until you reach London.” “I like your word _must_, Jennie,” said the young man audaciously. “It implies something, you know.” “What does it imply, Lord Donal?” she asked, glancing up at him. “It implies that you are going to leave the ‘Lord’ off my name.” “That wouldn’t be very difficult,” replied Jennie. “I am delighted to hear you say so,” exclaimed his lordship; “and now, that I may know how it sounds from your dear lips, call me Don.” “No; if I ever consented to omit the title, I should call you Donal. I like the name in its entirety.” He reached his hand across the table. “Are you willing then, to accept a man at the very lowest ebb of his fortunes? I know that if I were of the mould that heroes are made of, I would hesitate to proffer you a blighted life. But I loved you the moment I saw you; and, remembering my fruitless search for you, I cannot run the risk of losing you again; I have not the courage.” She placed her hand in his and looked him, for the first time, squarely in the eyes. “Are you sure, Donal,” she said, “that I am not a mere effigy on which you are hanging the worn-out garments of a past affection? You thought I was the Princess at first.” “No, I didn’t,” he protested. “As soon as I heard you speak, I knew you were the one I was destined to meet.”