The council of state broke up. Having seen John off in the car, the financier proceeded to his sister's sitting-room. Miss Scobell had breakfasted apart that morning, by request, her brother giving her to understand that matters of state, unsuited to the ear of a third party, must be discussed at the meal. She was reading her _New York Herald_. "Well," said Mr. Scobell, "he's come." "Yes, dear?" "And just the sort I want. Saw the idea of the thing right away, and is ready to go the limit. No nonsense about him." "Is he nice-looking, Bennie?" "Sure. All these Mervo princes have been good-lookers, I hear, and this one must be near the top of the list. You'll like him, Marion. All the girls will be crazy about him in a week." Miss Scobell turned a page. "Is he married?" Her brother started. "Married? I never thought of that. But no, I guess he's not. He'd have mentioned it. He's not the sort to hush up a thing like that. I--" He stopped short. His green eyes gleamed excitedly. "Marion!" he cried. "_Marion!_" "Well, dear?" "Listen. Gee, this thing is going to be the biggest ever. I gotta new idea. It just came to me. Your saying that put it into my head. Do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to cable over to Betty to come right along here, and I'm going to have her marry this prince guy. Yes, sir!" For once Miss Scobell showed signs that her brother's conversation really interested her. She laid down her paper, and stared at him. "Betty!" "Sure, Betty. Why not? She's a pretty girl. Clever too. The Prince'll be lucky to get such a wife, for all his darned ancestors away back to the flood." "But suppose Betty does not like him?" "Like him? She's gotta like him. Say, can't you make your mind soar, or won't you? Can't you see that a thing like this has gotta be fixed different from a marriage between--between a ribbon-counter clerk and the girl who takes the money at a twenty-five-cent hash restaurant in Flatbush? This is a royal alliance. Do you suppose that when a European princess is introduced to the prince she's going to marry, they let her say: 'Nothing doing. I don't like the shape of his nose'?" He gave a spirited imitation of a European princess objecting to the shape of her selected husband's nose. "It isn't very romantic, Bennie," sighed Miss Scobell. She was a confirmed reader of the more sentimental class of fiction, and this business-like treatment of love's young dream jarred upon her. "It's founding a dynasty. Isn't that romantic enough for you? You make me tired, Marion." Miss Scobell sighed again. "Very well, dear. I suppose you know best. But perhaps the Prince won't like Betty." Mr. Scobell gave a snort of disgust.