"I think," said her father dubiously, lending his ears in fancy to the sound, "I think that crowds get into the habit of cheering,--not because they care for me, but just because there are a lot of them, and they like to hear the sound of their own voices." "But sometimes you have quite small crowds," said his daughter, "and still they cheer." "Yes, yes," he allowed, "so they do. Yes, even the nursemaids, I notice, wave their handkerchiefs when I ride by them in the park. And I daresay some of them do it because they are sorry for me." "Sorry for you, papa?" "My dear, wouldn't you be sorry to have to be King now-a-days? It's no fun, I can assure you." "I wouldn't like to be King always," said Charlotte, with honesty; "but you know, papa, with all the Silver Jubilee celebrations coming on you are quite immensely popular." "Ah!" said the King. "Thank you, my dear, that is what I wanted to know." He went on to the Queen's apartments, and Princess Charlotte stood looking after him. "Poor dear!" she said to herself. She was sorry for him too--very sorry just now; for she had a secret growing within her somewhere between heart and head which, if he knew of it--and some day he would have to know of it--would cause him a great deal of worry. This young woman with her growing secret was at that time twenty-three. II The Princess Charlotte had a way of drawing in a breath as if to speak, and then bottling it. This little performance was at times very telling in its effect--it spoke volumes: it told of a long training in self-repression which still did not come quite naturally: it told of inward combustion, of a tightly cornered but still independent mind. Ladies-in-waiting had seen the Princess run out of her mother's presence to tabber her feet on the inlaid floor of the corridor, thence to return smooth, sweet-tempered, and amiable; for between Charlotte and the Queen there were temperamental differences which had to declare themselves or find safety through emergency exits.