“It’s very possible, but I don’t see what good it can do her.” “You’re not obliged to find excuses for the pampered classes. Their bloated luxury begets evil, impudent desires; they’re capable of doing harm for the sake of harm. Besides, is she genuine?” “If she isn’t, what becomes of your explanation?” Hyacinth asked. “Oh, it doesn’t matter; at night all cats are grey. Whatever she is, she’s an idle, bedizened trifler; perhaps even a real profligate female.” “If you had seen her you wouldn’t talk of her that way.” “God forbid I should see her then, if she’s going to corrupt me!” “Do you suppose she’ll corrupt _me_?” Hyacinth demanded with an expression of face and a tone of voice which produced on his friend’s part an explosion of mirth. “How can she, after all, when you’re already such a little mass of corruption?” “You don’t think that—?” and Hyacinth looked very grave. “Do you mean that if I did I wouldn’t say it? Haven’t you noticed that I say what I think?” “No, you don’t, not half of it: you’re as dark as a fish.” Paul Muniment glanced at his friend as if rather struck with the penetration of that remark; then he said: “Well then, if I should give you the other half of my opinion of you do you think you’d fancy it?” “I’ll save you the trouble. I’m a very clever, conscientious, promising young chap, and any one would be proud to claim me as a friend.” “Is that what your Princess told you? She must be a precious piece of goods!” Paul exclaimed. “Did she pick your pocket meanwhile?” “Oh yes; a few minutes later I missed a silver cigar-case engraved with the arms of the Robinsons. Seriously,” Hyacinth continued, “don’t you consider it possible that a woman of that class should want to know what’s going on among the like of us?” “It depends on what class you mean.” “Well, a woman with a lot of wonderful jewels and wonderful scents and the manners of an angel. I wonder if even the young ladies in the perfumery shops have such manners—they can’t have such pearls. It’s queer of course, that sort of interest, but it’s conceivable; why not? There may be unselfish natures; there may be disinterested feelings.” “And there may be fine ladies in an awful funk about their jewels and even about their manners. Seriously, as you say, it’s perfectly conceivable. I’m not in the least surprised at the aristocracy being curious to know what we’re up to and wanting very much to look into it. In their place I should be very uneasy, and if I were a woman with angelic manners very likely I too should be glad to get hold of a soft susceptible little bookbinder and pump him dry, bless his tender heart!” “Are you afraid I’ll tell her secrets?” cried Hyacinth, flushing with virtuous indignation. “Secrets? What secrets could you tell her, my pretty lad?” Hyacinth turned away. “You don’t trust me—you never have.”