“At home? Oh, he’s never at home; he’s all over the world. To-night he was as likely to have been in Paraguay for instance—though what a place to be!” she smiled—“as here. He is what they call a cosmopolite. I don’t know if you know that species; very modern, more and more frequent and exceedingly tiresome. I prefer the Chinese. He had told me he had had a lot of very interesting talk with you. That was what made me say: ‘Oh, do ask him to come in and see me. A little interesting talk, that would be a change!’” “She’s very complimentary to me!” said Madame Grandoni. “Ah my dear, you and I, you know, we never talk: we understand each other without that!” Then the Princess pursued, addressing herself to Hyacinth: “Do you never admit women?” “Admit women—?” “Into those séances—what do you call them?—those little meetings that Captain Sholto describes to me. I should like so much to be present. Why not?” “I haven’t seen any ladies,” Hyacinth said. “I don’t know if it’s a rule, but I’ve seen nothing but men”; and he subjoined, smiling, though he thought the dereliction rather serious and couldn’t understand the part Captain Sholto was playing, nor, considering the grand company he kept, how he had originally secured admittance into the subversive little circle in Bloomsbury: “You know I’m not sure he ought to go about reporting our proceedings.” “I see. Perhaps you think he’s a spy, an _agent provocateur_ or something of that sort.” “No,” said Hyacinth after a moment. “I think a spy would be more careful—would disguise himself more. Besides, after all, he has heard very little.” He spoke as with mild amusement. “You mean he hasn’t really been behind the scenes?” the Princess asked, bending forward a little and now covering the young man steadily with her beautiful deep eyes, as if by this time he must have got used to her and wouldn’t flinch from such attention. “Of course he hasn’t,” she said of herself, however, “and he never will be. He knows that, and that it’s quite out of his power to tell any real secrets. What he repeated to me was interesting, but of course I could see there was nothing the authorities anywhere could put their hand on. It was mainly the talk he had had with you which struck him so very much, and which struck me, as I tell you. Perhaps you didn’t know how he was drawing you out.” “I’m afraid that’s rather easy,” said Hyacinth with perfect candour; for it came over him that he _had_ chattered with a vengeance in Bloomsbury and had thought it natural enough there that his sociable fellow-visitor should offer him cigars and attach importance to the views of a clever and original young artisan.