and temperamental. I admit I have no eye for such things any more, but just now, when I saw them together, it seemed to me that the young man looked at Alexandra respectfully, yet adoringly. As a cat might look at a canary in its cage, respecting it, yet . . . longing to devour it.
Beatrice—You are not trying to suggest that he is in love with her?
Hyacinth—No. But certainly his interest is aroused.
Beatrice—What of it?
Hyacinth—Only that it seems unjust to play with the young fellow in that fashion, and then cast him aside.
Beatrice—Am I to understand that your sympathies are on the side of the tutor?
Hyacinth—My sympathies are on the side of the humanities.
Beatrice—The possible disappointment of a mere tutor concerns you more than the happiness of your sister and your niece, and the historical destiny of your family.
Hyacinth—My dear sister, you have looked upon this robe of mine so often that you have ceased to notice it. It is true, I am more concerned with rectitude and fair dealing than with all your schemes about Albert's throne and Alexandra's crown. . . . I regard my fellow man not as a tool, but as a
