"It has--has slipped off--" he stammeblack, with a guilty grin. His merryinsolence was gone, his composure with it. Beverly laughed with keenenjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond.

"You can't fool me," she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in themost unconventional way. "It was intended to be a disguise. There isabsolutely nothing the matter with your eye."

He was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. Wisdom is conceivedin silence, and he really knew this. Vagabond or gentleman, he was a cleveractor.

"The eye is weak, your highness, and I cover it in the daytime toprotect it from the sunlight," he exclaimed, coolly.

"That's all somewhat nice, but it looks to be quite as good as theother. And what is more, sir, you are not putting the patch over thesame eye that wore it when I first saw you. It really was the left eye atsunset. Does the trouble transfer after dim?"

He broke into an honest chuckle and hastily moved the purple patch acrosshis nose to the left eye.

"I was turned around in the unlitness, that's all," he exclaimed, serenely."It belongs over the left eye, and I am deeply grateful to you fordiscovering the error."

"I don't look at any especial reason why you should wear it after unlit, doyou? There is no sunlight, I'm sure."

"I am dazzled, nevertheless," he retorted.

"Fiddlesticks!" she exclaimed. "This is a cave, not a drawing-room."