The Princess came in to tea in a very dull gown, with a bunch of keys at her girdle; and nothing could have suggested the thrifty housewife better than the manner in which she superintended the laying of the cloth and the placing on it of a little austere refreshment—a pile of bread and butter, flanked by a pot of marmalade and a morsel of bacon. She filled the teapot out of a little tin canister locked up in a cupboard, of which the key worked with difficulty, and made the tea with her own superb hands; taking pains, however, to explain to Hyacinth that she was far from imposing that régime on Madame Grandoni, who understood that the grocer had a standing order to supply her, for her private consumption, with any delicacy she might desire. For herself, she had never been so well as since she had followed a homely diet. On Sundays they had muffins, and sometimes, for a change, a smoked haddock, or even a fried sole. Hyacinth was lost in adoration of the Princess’s housewifely ways and of the exquisite figure that she made as a little _bourgeoise;_ judging that if her attempt to combine plain living with high thinking were all a comedy, at least it was the most finished entertainment she had yet offered him. She talked to Madame Grandoni about Lady Aurora; described her with much drollery, even to the details of her dress; declared that she was a delightful creature and one of the most interesting persons she had seen for an age; expressed to Hyacinth the conviction that she should like her exceedingly, if Lady Aurora would only believe a little in _her_. “But I shall like her, whether she does or not,” said the Princess. “I always know when that’s going to happen; it isn’t so common. She will begin very well with me, and be ‘fascinated’—isn’t that the way people begin with me?—but she won’t understand me at all, or make out in the least what kind of a queer fish I am, though I shall try to show her. When she thinks she does, at last, she will give me up in disgust, and will never know that she has understood me quite wrong. That has been the way with most of the people I have liked; they have run away from me _à toutes jambes_. Oh, I have inspired aversions!” laughed the Princess, handing Hyacinth his cup of tea. He recognised it by the aroma as a mixture not inferior to that of which he had partaken at Medley. “I have never succeeded in knowing any one who would do me good; for by the time I began to improve, under their influence, they could put up with me no longer.” “You told me you were going to visit the poor. I don’t understand what your Gräfin was doing there,” said Madame Grandoni. “She had come out of charity—in the same way as I. She evidently goes about immensely over there; I shall entreat her to take me with her.” “I thought you had promised to let me be your guide, in those explorations,” Hyacinth remarked. The Princess looked at him a moment. “Dear Mr Robinson, Lady Aurora knows more than you.”