The latter returned his gaze for a moment; then he asked, “What makes you say that just now?” The fiddler appeared to deliberate, and at last he replied, “Because you are in danger of losing the best friend you have ever had.” “Be sure I feel it. But if I have got you—” Hyacinth added. “Oh, me! I’m very old, and very tired of life.” “I suppose that that’s what one arrives at. Well, if I can help you in any way you must lean on me, you must make use of me.” “That’s precisely what I was going to say to you,” said Mr Vetch. “Should you like any money?” “Of course I should! But why should you offer it to me?” “Because in saving it up, little by little, I have had you in mind.” “Dear Mr Vetch,” said Hyacinth, “you have me too much in mind. I’m not worth it, please believe that; for all sorts of reasons. I should make money enough for any uses I have for it, or have any right to have, if I stayed quietly in London and attended to my work. As you know, I can earn a decent living.” “Yes, I can see that. But if you stayed quietly in London what would become of your princess?” “Oh, they can always manage, ladies in that position.” “Hanged if I understand her position!” cried Mr Vetch, but without laughing. “You have been for three weeks without work, and yet you look uncommonly smart.” “You see, my living has cost me nothing. When you stay with great people you don’t pay your score,” Hyacinth explained, with great gentleness. “Moreover, the lady whose hospitality I have been enjoying has made me a very handsome offer of work.” “What kind of work?” “The only kind I know. She is going to send me a lot of books, to do up for her.” “And to pay you fancy prices?” “Oh, no; I am to fix the prices myself.” “Are not transactions of that kind rather disagreeable, with a lady whose hospitality one has been enjoying?” Mr Vetch inquired. “Exceedingly! That is exactly why I shall do the books and then take no money.” “Your princess is rather clever!” the fiddler exclaimed, in a moment, smiling. “Well, she can’t force me to take it if I won’t,” said Hyacinth. “No; you must only let _me_ do that.” “You have curious ideas about me,” the young man declared. Mr Vetch turned about to the window again, remarking that he had curious ideas about everything. Then he added, after an interval— “And have you been making love to your great lady?” He had expected a flash of impatience in reply to this inquiry, and was rather surprised at the manner in which Hyacinth answered: “How shall I explain? It is not a question of that sort.” “Has she been making love to you, then?” “If you should ever see her you would understand how absurd that supposition is.” “How shall I ever see her?” returned Mr Vetch. “In the absence of that privilege I think there is something in my idea.”