But she had taken it with a quick, surprised laugh. “How do you know that?” Before he had time to tell she added: “Your saying that—that way—shows me how right I was to ask you to come to see me. You know I hesitated. It shows me you’ve perceptions; I guessed as much the other night at the theatre. If I hadn’t I wouldn’t have asked you. I may be wrong, but I like people who understand what one says to them, and also what one doesn’t say.” “Don’t think I understand too much. You might easily exaggerate that,” Hyacinth declared conscientiously. “You confirm completely my first impression,” the Princess returned, smiling in a way that showed him he really amused her. “We shall discover the limits of your comprehension! I am atrociously nervous. But it will pass. How’s your cousin the dressmaker?” she inquired abruptly. And when Hyacinth had briefly given some account of poor Pinnie—described her as tolerably well for her, but old and tired and sad and not very successful—she exclaimed impatiently, “Ah, well, she’s not the only one!” and came back with irrelevance to the former question. “It’s not only my husband’s visit—absolutely unexpected!—that has made me fidgety, but the idea that now you’ve been so kind as to come here you may wonder why, after all, I made such a point of it, and even think any explanation I might be able to give you entirely insufficient.” “I don’t want any explanation,” said Hyacinth with a sense of great presence of mind. “It’s charming of you to say that, and I shall take you at your word. Explanations usually make things worse. All the same I don’t want you to think (as you might have done so easily the other evening) that I wish only to treat you as a curious animal.” “I don’t care how you treat me!” he smiled. There was a considerable silence, after which she pursued: “All I ask of my husband is to let me alone. But he won’t. He won’t return my indifference.” Hyacinth wondered what reply he ought to make to such an announcement as that, and it seemed to him the least civility demanded was that he should say—as he could with such conviction—“It can’t be easy to be indifferent to you.” “Why not if I’m odious? I _can_ be—oh there’s no doubt of that! However, I can honestly say that with the Prince I’ve been exceedingly reasonable and that most of the wrongs—the big ones, those that settled the question—have been on his side. You may tell me of course that that’s the pretension of every woman who has made a mess of her marriage. But ask Madame Grandoni.” “She’ll tell me it’s none of my business.”