sprang into existence the most brilliant and luxurious Court the world had yet known. With imposing ceremonies the first American monarch was crowned, amid the applauding tributes of the Kings and peoples of monarchical Europe.” “And this is the--the--King who now rules?” asked Dean. “Yes,” replied the Colonel. “His Majesty, William the First, has since then reigned and his reign has been one glorious in war and successful in peace, as I shall have occasion to explain to you later. The King is a man of great capabilities--able, sagacious and of strong will, but of late years he has grown very fond of the gayeties of life, so much so that, like Charles II. of England, he is often referred to as ‘The Merry Monarch.’ The brilliancy of his Court has grown apace, and indeed it exceeds that of any other reigning sovereign. But amid all this glitter and gayety the affairs of State are well looked after. The officers of the Chancellerie are in the palace itself, and still at the helm is the stern old Chancellor--the great American Lord Chancellor, His Grace, the Duke of Marquanna.” CHAPTER VII THE POT CALLS THE KETTLE BLACK “And who was the most beautiful woman of that time and--and--what did she look like? Oh, do tell me all about it. I’m so interested!” So prattled away Beatrice, daughter of Colonel Sir Maynard Cuming, sprightly and eighteen, as she sat at the head of the breakfast table, and daintily served Kearns and the Professor with their tea. The Colonel was a widower and this little lady--half woman, half child still--with her handsome dark eyes and arch, impetuous ways was his only daughter. “Do tell me all about it,” she continued pleadingly. “I want to know all about her. The books--histories and things like that--tell a lot of things which are not at all interesting and leave out the most important things of all. Who was the most beautiful woman?” Both Kearns and the Professor seemed quite perplexed. The Colonel laughed. “Now you are confronted with a poser,” he said. “This might be a rather awkward question under some circumstances, but you can certainly answer it without danger of making any particular lady jealous.” “Now, papa,” protested Beatrice, “please don’t interrupt and lead away from my question.” “I fear it is useless to appeal to me, Miss Cuming,” finally answered the Professor. “My friend, I imagine, is better qualified to answer such a question.” “Oh, I don’t know about that!” exclaimed Kearns; “I’ve noticed that you scientists, for all your air of scientific abstraction, have very often an exceedingly keen eye to feminine charms and graces. Who was the most beautiful woman? How can one answer such a question when all the women of--of--our day were so beautiful! In those days, to walk up Broadway from Twenty-third to Thirty-fourth streets, on a bright afternoon, was to see a galaxy of American beauty and Paris fashions pass in review.”