“This is like a story from the ‘Arabian Nights.’ Only two years ago I was a poor working girl in New York, miserable and starving, and now I am to be the bride of the man I worship; I am surrounded by wealth and splendor, I have trunks full of magnificent clothing, I have caskets of rare jewels, and the proudest people in this city will assemble to do honor to my marriage. Yes, even a prince will be looking on while I give my hand to my beloved until death.” Suddenly there came to her a memory of that other dark wedding day, and of her humble friend, Sadie Allen, and she sighed to herself: “Dear Sadie, if it were possible, I would rather have you here than the prince.” The Italian prince did not care for festivities, as he had told Augustus Frayne, but he had made up his mind to attend the wedding at the villa, not because it was his ancestral home so much as because the name Fairfax Howard on the wedding cards had excited in his mind a languid interest. “I knew a Fairfax once,” he said to Miss Beatrix Consani, with whom he was on friendly terms. “If this Miss Howard is half as lovely as the Fairfax I knew, the bridegroom is a lucky dog.” “Oh, she is perfectly beautiful!” cried Beatrix enthusiastically. “Her eyes are so big and so starry bright, her hair like sunshine, and her face makes one think of a beautiful flower. Indeed, she is the loveliest girl I ever saw.” Prince Gonzaga looked a little startled. “The Fairfax I knew was just like that,” he said. “She was a New York girl, beautiful but poor, and of obscure origin.” “This girl is from New York, too, but she is a great heiress, and has had many admirers. Lord Leigh and Augustus Frayne both wanted to marry her,” said the Italian beauty. “Heiresses are always sought after,” commented the prince, and he added, with a touch of bitterness: “There is not much genuine love in the world, Miss Consani. Every one wants to marry money.” “Or beauty,” said Miss Consani. “Beauties, even though poor, can generally make good matches. How was it with your New York beauty? Did she marry rich?” “She wished to do so. She was mercenary, like most women, but she had a bitter lesson,” answered the prince, and by the moody way in which he drew his dark brows together she guessed that he had had some unusual interest in her of whom he spoke. Her dark eyes began to sparkle with interest, and she exclaimed: “Please tell me all about it. I’m sure it’s interesting.” “Perhaps,” said the prince, and his dark eyes seemed to flash beneath their jetty brows. Pulling nervously with his slim, dark hand at his black mustache, he continued: