The Princess listened to him intently and her attitude made him feel how little _he_, in comparison, expressed himself like a person who had the habit of conversation; he seemed to himself to betray ridiculous effort, to stammer and emit vulgar sounds. For a moment she said nothing, only looking at him with her exquisite smile. “I do draw you out!” she exclaimed at last. “You’re much more interesting to me than if you were an exception.” At these last words Hyacinth flinched a hair’s breadth; the movement was shown by his dropping his eyes. We know to what extent he really regarded himself as of the stuff of the common herd. The Princess doubtless guessed it as well, for she quickly added: “At the same time I can see you’re remarkable enough.” “What do you think I’m remarkable for?” “Well, you’ve general ideas.” “Every one has them to-day. They have them in Bloomsbury to a terrible degree. I’ve a friend (who understands the matter much better than I) who has no patience with them: he declares they’re our folly, our danger and our bane. A few very special ideas—if they’re the right ones—are what we want.” “Who’s your friend?” the Princess asked abruptly. “Ah, Christina, Christina!” Madame Grandoni murmured from the other side of the box. Christina took no notice of her, and Hyacinth, not understanding the warning and only remembering how personal women always are, replied: “A young man who lives in Camberwell and who’s in the employ of a big wholesale chemist.” If he had designed in this description of his friend a stronger dose than his hostess would be able to digest he was greatly mistaken. She seemed to gaze tenderly at the picture suggested by his words, and she immediately inquired if the young man were also clever and if she mightn’t hope to know him. Hadn’t Captain Sholto seen him, and if so why hadn’t he spoken of him too? When Hyacinth had replied that Captain Sholto had probably seen him, but, as he believed, had had no particular conversation with him, the Princess asked with startling frankness if her visitor wouldn’t bring the person so vividly described some day to see her. Hyacinth glanced at Madame Grandoni, but that worthy woman was engaged in a survey of the house through an old-fashioned eyeglass with a long gilt handle. He had perceived much before this that the Princess Casamassima had no desire for vain phrases, and he had the good taste to feel that from himself to such a great lady compliments, even had he wished to pay them, would have had no suitability. “I don’t know whether he would be willing to come. He’s the sort of man that in such a case you can’t answer for.” “That makes me want to know him all the more. But you’ll come yourself at all events, eh?”