“I daresay. But, all the same, whatever’s going to come one _must_ do something.” “You do think then that something’s going to come?” said the Princess. “Oh immense changes, I daresay. But I don’t belong to anything, you know.” The Princess thought this over. “No more do I. But many people do. Mr. Robinson for instance.” And she turned her golden light on Hyacinth. “Oh if the changes depend on _me_——!” Mr. Robinson exclaimed with a blush. “They won’t set the Thames on fire—I quite agree to that!” Lady Aurora had the manner of not considering she had a warrant for going into the question of Hyacinth’s affiliations; so she stared abstractedly at the piano and in a moment remarked to her hostess: “I’m sure you play awfully well. I should like so much to hear you.” Hyacinth could see their friend thought this _banal_. She had not asked Lady Aurora to spend the evening with her simply that they should fall back on the resources of the vulgar. Nevertheless she replied with perfect good nature that she should be delighted to play; only there was a thing she should like much better—which was that Lady Aurora should narrate her life. “Oh don’t talk about mine; yours, yours!” her ladyship cried, colouring with eagerness and for the first time since her arrival indulging in the free gesture of laying her hand on that of the Princess. “With so many grand confidences in the air I certainly had better take myself off,” said Hyacinth; and the Princess offered no opposition to his departure. She and Lady Aurora were evidently on the point of striking up a tremendous intimacy, and as he turned this idea over walking away it made him sad for strange vague reasons that he couldn’t have expressed. XXXV