XXXIX
On Saturday afternoons Paul Muniment was able to leave his work at four o'clock, and on one of these occasions, some time after his visit to Madeira Crescent, he came into Rosy's room at about five, carefully dressed and brushed, and ruddy with the freshness of an abundant washing. He stood at the foot of her sofa, with a conscious smile, knowing how she chaffed him when his necktie was new; and after a moment, during which she ceased singing to herself as she twisted the strands of her long black hair together and let her eyes travel over his whole person, inspecting every detail, she said to him, 'My dear Mr. Muniment, you are going to see the Princess.'
'Well, have you anything to say against it?' Mr. Muniment asked.
'Not a word; you know I like princesses. But you have.'
'Well, my girl, I'll not speak it to you,' the young man rejoined. 'There's something to be said against everything, if you'll give yourself trouble enough.'
'I should be very sorry if ever anything was said against you.'
'The man's a sneak who is only and always praised,' Muniment remarked. 'If you didn't hope to be finely abused, where would be the encouragement?'
