Sitting solitary, since the empty place happened to be next him, Usk had plenty of opportunity of observing his fellow-diners, and he took a special delight in watching the pair opposite him. The Princess Helene was looking very small and shy, and as young as ever, in her simple white gown, with her hair coiled round and round the small head, which seemed overweighted by the heavy plaits. She was not pretty, thought Usk, looking at her dispassionately, she was too thin and pale, but the over-abundant hair was of a warm brown, and the large eyes a deep hazel. If she was with people who were kind to her, and was not in constant fear of being snubbed or called to order, she would be a jolly little girl. To this conclusion he was led by observing her demeanour to Cyril, which reminded him of the way she had talked to himself under the protection of her mask two days before. At first she was almost too shy to speak, on finding herself in the actual presence of her idol, but the barrier was soon removed. There were few people that Cyril could not set at ease, and this little romantic girl was no exception to the rule. “He talked to me about interesting things, as if I was quite old,” she said to Usk in the drawing-room afterwards; and when Usk hinted that this would not generally be considered a compliment, she was almost angry. “People always will think that girls want compliments, and simply to talk about balls and stupid things of that kind,” she cried, “instead of books, and politics, and _life_; but the dear Count is not like that. I have often thought that some day I might see him and listen to him, but I never, never dreamed that he would talk to me, and let me talk to him. And I should have lost it all if _he_ had not been so rude and come in too late for dinner.”