it might be) with which she covered him while she said after a little: “It’s very serious—it’s very serious indeed, isn’t it?” He replied that the serious part was to come—there was no particular grimness for him (comparatively) in strolling in that fine park and gossiping with her about the matter; and it occurred to her presently to suggest to him that perhaps Hoffendahl would never give him any sign at all, so that he might wait, all the while _sur les dents_, in a false suspense. He admitted that this would be a sell, but declared that either way he should be sold, though differently; and that at any rate he would have conformed to the great religious rule—to live each hour as if it were to be one’s last. “In holiness, you mean—in great _recueillement_?” the Princess asked. “Oh dear no; simply in extreme thankfulness for every good minute that’s added.” “Ah well, there will probably be a great many good minutes,” she returned. “The more the better—if they’re as good as this one.” “That won’t be the case with many of them in Lomax Place.” “I assure you that since that night Lomax Place has improved.” Hyacinth stood there smiling, his hands in his pockets and his hat pushed back. The Princess appeared to consider this quaint truth, as well as the charming facts of his appearance and attitude, with an extreme intellectual curiosity. “If after all then you’re not called you’ll have been positively happy.” “I shall have had some fine moments. Perhaps Hoffendahl’s plot is simply for that: Muniment may have put him up to it!” “Who knows? However, with me you must go on as if nothing were changed.” “Changed from what?” “From the time of our first meeting at the theatre.” “I’ll go on in any way you like,” said Hyacinth. “Only the real difference will be there, you know.” “The real difference?” “That I shall have ceased to care for what you care for.” “I don’t understand,” she confessed with all the candour of her beauty. “Isn’t it enough now to give my life to the beastly cause,” the young man broke out, “without giving my sympathy?” “The beastly cause?” the Princess murmured, opening her deep eyes. “Of course it’s really just as holy as ever; only the people I find myself pitying now are the rich, the happy.” “I see. You’re very remarkable. You’re splendid. Perhaps you pity my husband,” she added in a moment. “Do you call him one of the happy?” Hyacinth inquired as they walked on again. But she only repeated: “You’re very remarkable. Yes, you’re splendid.” To which he made answer: “Well, it’s what I want to be!”