“Not among the lower orders, I know, but you are ‘highly well-born,’ as we say in German. Let us imagine an instance.” Princess Lida raised herself on her elbow. “Suppose that secretary of your uncle’s declared to you that he had conceived a passion for you”--she watched with delight the flood of crimson which overspread Philippa’s face at this rude handling of the secret, the existence of which she had scarcely owned even to herself--“and you were not insensible to it----” “You have no right whatever to say such things!” cried Philippa, finding her tongue. “But, my Lippchen,” with extreme simplicity, “no one could have seen the poor young man in your society the other day without perceiving what his feelings were. Your response I am only imagining for the sake of argument. Well, your parents declare the idea preposterous, and inform you that you have been destined all your life for some elderly red-faced provincial nobleman. What will you do?” “Of course I would never marry any one without my father’s consent. But I should ask him to tell me his objections, and I know he would treat me as a reasonable being. Perhaps he might change his mind after a time, but if not, I should go on just as I was. He would never try to make me marry any one else.” “Oh, you are too good, you and your parents!” cried Princess Lida, as Philippa, her fair face crimson, put forth her defence like a defiance; “but I have not such a considerate mother, and mamma has not such an easily contented daughter. You see, the game would not be worth the candle in my case.” “That means you don’t love the other one well enough to give up anything for his sake?” “Exactly. I want to keep what I have, and to get all I can. Meanwhile, I enjoy myself--quite decorously and without hurting any one.” “But surely you are hurting him?” “How? Oh, you mean if it came out. But I shan’t let it out, you see, nor will he, for he is far too comfortable in his present post, just as I am. Why shouldn’t I amuse myself like every one else? Mamma will have her train of adorers as soon as she receives people again. Even now she has your beloved uncle.” “Princess!” Philippa’s cry was a passionate contradiction. Princess Lida laughed. “Why, poor innocent Lippchen, you don’t imagine that Count Mortimer comes here every day to see you? It is my mother who is the attraction, not his dutiful niece. What! have I broken another idol?”