“Oh I don’t return visits—I’ve got plenty of jobs of my own to attend to. If I don’t put myself out for the Princess isn’t that a sufficient answer to your question?” “I’m by no means sure,” said Hyacinth. “If you went to see her, simply and civilly, because she asked you, I shouldn’t regard it as a proof you had taken a fancy to her. Your hanging off is more suspicious; it may mean that you don’t trust yourself—that you’re in danger of falling in love if you go in for a more intimate acquaintance.” “It’s a rum go, your wanting me to make up to her. I shouldn’t think it would suit your book,” Muniment returned while he stared at the sky with his hands clasped under his head. “Do you suppose I’m afraid of you?” his comrade asked. “Besides,” Hyacinth added in a moment, “why the devil should I care now?” Paul made for a little no rejoinder; he turned over on his side and, with his arm resting on the ground, leaned his head on his hand. Hyacinth felt his eyes on his own face, but he also felt himself colouring and didn’t meet them. He had taken a private vow never to indulge, to this companion, in certain inauspicious references, and the words just spoken had slipped out of his mouth too easily. “What do you mean by that?” Paul demanded at last; and when Hyacinth looked at him he saw nothing but the strong, fresh, irresponsible, the all so manly and sturdy face. Its owner had had time before speaking to prefigure a meaning. Suddenly an impulse he had never known before, or rather that he had always resisted, took possession of our young man. There was a mystery which it concerned his happiness to clear up, and he became unconscious of his scruples, of his pride, of the strength he had ever believed to be in him—the strength for going through his work and passing away without a look behind. He sat forward on the grass with his arms round his knees and offered his friend a presence quickened by his difficulties. For a minute the two pairs of eyes met with extreme clearness, and then Hyacinth brought out: “What an extraordinary chap you are!” “You’ve hit it there!” Paul smiled. “I don’t want to make a scene or work on your feelings, but how will you like it when I’m strung up on the gallows?” “You mean for Hoffendahl’s job? That’s what you were alluding to just now?” Muniment lay there in the same position, chewing a long blade of dry grass which he held to his lips with his free hand. “I didn’t mean to speak of it; but after all why shouldn’t it come up? Naturally I’ve thought of it a good deal.” “What good does that do?” Muniment returned. “I hoped you didn’t—I noticed you never spoke of it. You don’t like it. You’d rather chuck it up,” he added.