The grand duke did not answer at once, and, when finally he spoke, there was a hopeless undercurrent in his voice which showed clearly that he had little hope of his argument meeting with success. “Under the laws of Ostrau,” he said in a low tone, “a woman without royal or noble blood cannot marry into the reigning family. She, therefore, has no standing as your wife. In Ostrau the bond does not exist, and you would be free to marry your father’s choice, Princess Olga, of Gratz.” The young man’s lips curled and his eyes narrowed. “Never!” he exclaimed impulsively. “She’s ten years too old and a thousand times impossible. Luckily,” he went on more composedly, “we’re in America, not Ostrau, and I propose to stay here. I’m beastly sorry, uncle, for your sake. We’ve always been great pals, and ever since I was a kid I’ve loved you more than my august father. I’d do anything else for you gladly, but this is impossible. I’ll renounce my rights to the succession for myself and my heirs forever. Let Maurice be crown prince, can’t you? He’ll make a lot better king than I ever could. All I want is to be let alone; to be free to live my own life and be happy in my own way. Ostrau stifles me with its foolish, cramping etiquette and narrow bigotry. It’s ruined your life, and I’ll take precious good care----” He broke off abruptly as the grand duke groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Forgive me, uncle!” the prince begged. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I forgot myself. But you understand,” he went on softly, “because you, too, have suffered.” CHAPTER XLV. THE GIFT OF THE RING. The older man did not answer at once, and Lawrence, feeling as if he had no right to listen, moved slowly backward till he touched the table. Then he turned suddenly and looked down quizzically into Shirley’s eyes. “You--understand?” he whispered gently. She nodded swiftly. “What must you think of me?” she murmured a little unsteadily. “I didn’t believe it at first, but they swore it--was true; and, somehow, things--fitted in, and--and---- Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” One hand stole across the table, and the strong brown fingers closed over the tiny gloved ones. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?” he questioned softly, gazing into her wonderful eyes with an expression in his own which swiftly brought her long lashes sweeping down on crimsoning cheek. “Well?” he queried as she made no answer. “I--I hoped,” she faltered. It was the voice of the grand duke, weary, sorrowful, but full of an unmistakable resignation, which broke the silence. “I cannot blame you, Oscar,” he was saying quietly. “I have clung to the old traditions because there seemed no other way--perhaps I lacked the courage to do what you have done--and my life turned to dust and ashes. I love you too well ever to wish to see that happen to you. Have you any--plans?”