On another occasion she hinted at his possible espousal of a princess. Again Jimmie dropped from the empyrean, and rubbed his head ruefully. There was only one princess in the world for him, an enthroned personage of radiant beauty who now and then took warm pity on him and admitted him to her friendship, but of whom it were disloyalty worse than all folly to think of. And yet he could not help his heart leaping at the sight of her, or the thrill quivering through him when he saw the rare softness come into her eyes which he and none other had evoked. What he had to give her he could give to no other woman, no other princess. The gift was unoffered: it remained in his own keeping, but consecrated to the divinity. He enshrined it, as many another poor chivalrous wretch has done, in an exquisite sanctuary, making it the symbol of a vague sweet religion whose secret observances brought consolation. But of all this, not a whisper, not a sign to Aline. When she spoke of marriageable princesses, he explained the rueful rubbing of his head by reference to his unattractive old fogeydom, and his unfitness for the life of high society. But Aline ought to have her prince. The coming fortune would help to give the girl what was due to her. For himself he cared nothing. Cold mutton and heel of cheese would satisfy him to the end of his days. And fame? In quieter moments he shrugged his shoulders. An artist has a message to deliver to his generation, and how can he deliver it if he cannot sell his pictures? Let him give out to the world what was best in him, and he would be content. Let him but be able to say, “I have delivered my message,” and that would be fame enough. These were things of the depths. The surface of his mood was exuberant, almost childish, delight, tempered with whimsical diffidence in his power of comporting himself correctly towards such high personages. For the duchess, who never did things by halves, and was also determined, as she had said, of not buying a pig in a poke, had conveyed to him the intimation that Her Serene Highness the Princess of Herren-Rothbeck would honour him with a visit to his studio on the following Thursday. Jimmie and Aline held long counsel together. What was the proper way to receive a Serene Highness? Jimmie had a vague idea of an awning outside the door and a strip of red baize down the steps and across the pavement. Tony Merewether, who was called into consultation, suggested, with the flippancy of youth, a brass band and a chorus of maidens to strew flowers; whereat Aline turned her back upon him, and Jimmie, adding pages in fancy dress to hold up the serene train and a major-domo in a court suit with a wand, encouraged the offender. Aline retired from so futile a discussion and went on sewing in dignified silence. At last she condescended to throw out a suggestion. “If I were you, Jimmie, I should get the princess some portraits to look at.”