“Of course,” Burton went on, seating himself in the chair and with difficulty getting his knees beneath the table, “of course, living in an Enchanted Castle it may be that one is not at liberty to come and go as we are, Robert. You follow me, I trust?” [Illustration] “Y-yessah!” “Thank you. I realize that there are times when my remarks possess a certain involution, as you might say, which persons with less penetration than you, Robert, might find confusing. It pleases me that you so thoroughly understand my remarks; your sympathetic attitude arouses my gratitude. That possibly sounds to your finely-trained ear like poetry, Robert, but I assure you that nothing of the sort was intended. So far I have not reached the condition when poetry becomes necessary for the expression of thought. When I do reach that phase of the malady--for love has been not inaptly termed a malady, you’ll remember--when I _do_, I say, your ears shall be the first to listen to my rhymed periods; that I promise you. But--no, thanks, I beg of you!” [Illustration] The request seemed unnecessary, for Bob’s countenance was expressive of other emotions than gratitude, chief of which, perhaps, was bewilderment. He rolled his eyes towards the kitchen door, and his settled grin--the sort of grin with which one might strive to placate a dangerous lunatic--held a trace of uneasiness. But Burton, leaning with his elbows on the table and levelling a drawing pencil at him, held him captive to his will. “Robert,” he asked, “have you ever seen a Princess?” “N-no, sah; leastways, sah, not to know it.” “Ah,” said Burton with a shake of his head, “that’s it! ‘Not to know it!’ Perhaps, Robert, you have met your Princess without recognizing her, have passed her on the street, at the market, in--Robert!” “Sah?” “How about cook? You don’t think that possibly--er--she might be your Princess?” “Who, sah? Lavinia, sah? Ah reckon yo’ makin’ fun, Mister Burton. Why, she ain’ no Princess, sah; she’s jes’ one dem no ’count No’th Ca’lina niggers!” [Illustration] Burton nodded gravely. [Illustration] “Perhaps you are right. Nevertheless, Robert, Princesses move in strange disguises, I have no doubt. Unfortunately, I am unable to acquaint you with any certain method of detecting them. Of course, if she lives in a Castle and picks roses in an Enchanted Garden you know at once that she is a Princess; that is simplicity itself. Also, if she has beautiful soft brown eyes and--and dimples--” He snapped his fingers triumphantly and Bob started in alarm. “We have it, Robert! Rejoice!” “Yessah, yessah!” “That, Robert, is the secret! Dimples! Look for dimples! All Princesses have dimples. Aren’t you awfully glad I thought of that? When you go back, Robert, observe Lavinia closely. If she has dimples”--he spread his hands wide--“there you are, you have found your Princess!”