“Pensions, yes, for the bad writers who have fallen below the level of even the British public. And there are literary funds, yes. I was once asked to act as a steward at one of their annual dinners. The secretary sent me the rules, by which I saw that no grant was ever made to writers whose lives or whose works were open to objection on religious or moral grounds. I wrote back to say that I did not see my way to support a literary fund from whose benefits Shakespeare and Shelley would have been excluded.” The Princess saw that she was handling a sore. She sighed, and changed the conversation. After dinner Prince Herbert played billiards with his guest, and their talk ran on the past. Alistair was softened by the boyish memories recalled by his old playfellow, and when he went to bed it was with more peaceful and happier thoughts than had come to him for a long time. He was sipping his cup of tea in bed the next morning when he heard light footsteps, followed by excited whispering, outside his door. The next moment the handle was turned cautiously, and then the door was thrust open with a bang, and two small boys invaded the room. “May we come in?” demanded the elder. And satisfied with the expression on Lord Alistair’s face, he turned and beckoned through the doorway. “It’s all right; don’t be afraid, Tissy.” The apprehension felt by the unseen Tissy communicated itself to Alistair, who hastened to say: “Hadn’t you better go away till I’ve dressed?” “We want to stay and see you dress,” the leader responded. “I’m not worth seeing, I assure you,” said Alistair. “I dress very badly.” It seemed doubtful whether the excuse would be accepted, when fortunately a warning cry was heard from the doorway, and a voice as of one speaking with authority called out: “Come here directly!” The head of the invading party cast a hasty glance round the room, and only remarking regretfully to his brother: “I can’t _see_ his teeth,” withdrew in good order. Stuart did not offer to accompany his hosts to their little country church. But the sight of the family party setting out across the park, and the far-off sound of the bell, had a soothing effect upon his spirit. Contrast is the secret of all beauty, and perhaps the prodigal had never considered how much of their charm would depart from the rocks and valleys of Bohemia were there no Puritan plain without. In the afternoon he found himself left alone with the Princess, after they had taken tea in the garden. The scent of the roses was all about them, and the bees drummed restlessly as they went by. It was a perfect piece of English landscape, and the perfect type of English womanhood fitted into it like a picture in its natural frame. “Lord Alistair,” she said, with quiet seriousness, “I want to ask you if you will let the Prince help you. He has never forgotten your boyish friendship; he is attached to you still, and he only wants to see his way clear to do something for you.”