'I like it as well as any other. But you don't feel alike. I have an idea you are sorry.'
'Sorry for what?'
'That I have put my head in a noose.'
'Ah, you're severe—I thought I concealed it so well!' the Princess exclaimed. He admitted that he had been severe, and begged her pardon, for he was by no means sure that there was not a hint of tears in her voice. She looked away from him for a minute, and it was after this that, stopping short, she remarked, as I have related, 'He is Diedrich Hoffendahl.'
Hyacinth stared for a moment, with parted lips. 'Well, you are in it, more than I supposed!'
'You know he doesn't trust women,' his companion smiled.
'Why in the world should you have cared for any light I can throw, if you have ever been in relation with him?'
She hesitated a little. 'Oh, you are very different. I like you better,' she added.
'Ah, if it's for that!' murmured Hyacinth.
The Princess coloured, as he had seen her colour before, and in this accident, on her part, there was an unexpectedness, something touching. 'Don't try to fix my inconsistencies on me,' she said, with a humility which matched her blush. 'Of course there are plenty of them, but it will always be kinder of you to let them pass. Besides, in this case they are not so serious as they seem. As a product of the 'people,' and of that strange, fermenting underworld (what you say of it is so true!) you interest me more, and have more to say to me, even than Hoffendahl—wonderful creature as he assuredly is.'
