It was not till after he had left her that he became conscious she had forced him to talk in spite of talking so much herself. He drew a long breath as he reflected that he hadn’t made quite such an ass of himself as might very well have happened; he had been saved by the thrill of his interest and admiration, which had not gone to his head and prompted him to show that he too in his improbable little way was remarkable, but had kept him in a state of anxious, conscious tension, as if the occasion had been a great appointed solemnity, some initiation more formal than any he believed practised even in the grimmest subterranean circles. He had said indeed much more than he had warrant for when she questioned him on his “radical” affiliations; he had spoken as if the movement were vast and mature, whereas in fact, so far at least as he was as yet concerned with it and could answer for it from personal knowledge, it was circumscribed by the hideously-papered walls of the little club-room at the “Sun and Moon.” He reproached himself with this laxity, but it had not been engendered by pride. He was only afraid of disappointing his hostess too much, of making her say, “Why in the world then did you come to see me if you’ve nothing more remarkable to put before me?”—a question to which of course he would have had an answer ready but for its being so impossible to say he had never asked to come and that his coming was her own affair. He wanted too much to come a second time to have the courage to make that speech. Nevertheless when she exclaimed, changing the subject abruptly, as she always did, from something else they had been talking about, “I wonder if I shall ever see you again!” he replied with perfect sincerity that it was scarce possible for him to believe anything so delightful could be repeated. There were some kinds of happiness that to many people never came at all, and to others could come only once. He added: “It’s very true I had just that feeling after I left you the other night at the theatre. And yet here I am!” “Yes, there you are,” said the Princess thoughtfully—as if this might be a still graver and more embarrassing fact than she had yet supposed it. “I take it there’s nothing essentially inconceivable in my seeing you again; but it may very well be that you’ll never again find it so pleasant. Perhaps that’s the happiness that comes but once. At any rate, you know, I’m going away.” “Oh yes, of course; every one leaves town—!” Hyacinth rose to that occasion. “Do _you_, Mr. Robinson?” the Princess asked. “Well, I don’t as a general thing. Nevertheless it’s possible that this year I may get three or four days at the seaside. I should like to take my old lady. I’ve done it before.” “And except for that shall you be always at work?” “Yes; but you must understand that I love my work. You must understand that it’s a great blessing for a young fellow like me to have it.”