“How like you, to say that!” said Lady Forwood, with a good-natured laugh, as Hugh, forgetting his dislike to the _rôle_ of “spy,” scrutinised her highness closely through the glasses. “That is almost on a par with your speech to the Princess M——, one of the stories she always tells to show what a bear you are, sir!” “I do not remember saying anything to the Princess M——,” said Hugh, laying down the lorgnette. “You don’t remember her playing to you, and your saying that you had never cared for any playing except that of a relation of yours?” “No,” said Hugh, who was beginning to think deeply on the subject of his new “case;” and his thoughts were curious, and to him utterly unexpected. “But what did I say to you that was bearish just now, Lady Forwood? I don’t care if her Royal Highness tells anecdotes about me or not—it amuses her, and doesn’t harm me. But I cannot be misunderstood by _you_.” “That pretty speech makes up for the rude one,” said Lady Forwood, smiling. “You seemed surprised that Mercedes and I were girl friends. Of course I am her senior by some years. I will tell you how it was. Her parents were anxious about her as a child, she was such a delicate, mopy little thing. So they sent her to a convent school at the seaside in England. I was what you might call a sixth-form girl when she came; and, as the nuns thought me steady-going, they gave her to me to look after specially. I was to be a sort of deputy-mamma; and she grew very fond of me, poor little thing!” “Why do you say ‘poor little thing’?” asked Hugh. “Oh, Mercedes has always been peculiar,” said Lady Forwood. “The nuns thought her cold and apathetic. I knew very differently! There is fire underneath that cold manner of hers—she is the most passionate girl, I think, I ever met! And her parents have been idiots enough to marry her to that man!” “You do not approve of the prince?” asked Hugh. “Hush! We really must not talk any more, people will notice us,” said Lady Forwood, directing her _lorgnettes_ towards the stage, where the prima-donna had just finished an air which was evidently greatly to the taste of the pit and gallery. Hugh leaned back and during the remainder of the first act watched the Princess Andriocchi as narrowly as he could without being specially noticed. She sat perfectly still at first, leaning back, her white profile cameo-like against the crimson curtain, her hands lying listlessly in her lap. She appeared to be watching the stage, but in reality her eyes were more than half veiled by their heavy lids. Through the glass he could see that her exquisite little ears were transparent as wax. “Poor child!” thought Hugh, compassionately. He thought he knew now why the great B—— S—— and the clever Dr. Foster could neither of them relieve the little princess of her _malaise_. The cause was mental.