Bloomsbury to a terrible degree. I have a friend (who understands the matter much better than I) who has no patience with them: he declares they are our danger and our bane. A few very special ideas—if they are the right ones—are what we want.'
'Who is your friend?' the Princess asked, abruptly.
'Ah, Christina, Christina,' Madame Grandoni murmured from the other side of the box.
Christina took no notice of her, and Hyacinth, not understanding the warning, and only remembering how personal women always are, replied, 'A young man who lives in Camberwell, an assistant at a wholesale chemist's.'
If he had expected that this description of his friend was a bigger dose than his hostess would be able to digest, he was greatly mistaken. She seemed to look tenderly at the picture suggested by his words, and she immediately inquired whether the young man were also clever, and whether she might not hope to know him. Hadn't Captain Sholto seen him; and if so, why hadn't he spoken of him, too? When Hyacinth had replied that Captain Sholto had probably seen him, but that he believed he had had no particular conversation with him, the Princess inquired, with startling frankness, whether her visitor wouldn't bring his friend, some day, to see her.
Hyacinth glanced at Madame Grandoni, but that worthy woman was engaged in a survey of the house, through an old-fashioned eye-glass with a long gilt handle. He had perceived, long before this, that the Princess Casamassima had no desire for vain phrases, and he had the good taste to feel that, from himself to such a personage, compliments, even if he had wished to pay them,
