“Of course he may come, and stay as long as he likes!” the Princess exclaimed, when Hyacinth, that afternoon, told her of his encounter, with the sweet, bright surprise her face always wore when people went through the form (supererogatory she apparently¹ meant to declare it) of asking her leave. From the manner in which she granted Sholto’s petition – with a geniality² that made light of it, as if the question were not worth talking of, one way or the other – it might have been supposed that the account he had given Hyacinth of their relations was an elaborate but none the less foolish hoax³. She sent a messenger with a note over to Bonchester, and the Captain arrived just in time to dress for dinner. The Princess was always late, and Hyacinth’s toilet, on these occasions, occupied him considerably⁴ (he was acutely conscious of its deficiencies, and yet tried to persuade himself that they were positively⁵ honourable⁶ and that the only garb⁷ of dignity, for him, was the costume, as it were, of his profession); therefore, when the fourth member of the little party descended⁸ to the drawing-room Madame Grandoni was the only person he found there.

“Santissima Vergine! I’m glad to see you! What good wind has sent you?” she exclaimed, as soon as Sholto came into the room.

“Didn’t you know I was coming?” he asked. “Has the idea of my arrival produced so little agitation⁹?”

“I know nothing of the affairs of this house. I have given them up at last, and it was time. I remain in my room.” There was nothing at present in the old lady’s

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