'Simply astonishing?' Hyacinth repeated.
'For a person of your low extraction.'
'Well, I may be queer, but he is certainly queerer. Don't you think so, now you know him?'
Paul Muniment looked at his young friend a moment. 'Do you want to know what he is? He's a tout.'
'A tout? What do you mean?'
'Well, a cat's-paw, if you like better.'
Hyacinth stared. 'For whom, pray?'
'Or a fisherman, if you like better still. I give you your choice of comparisons. I made them up as we came along in the hansom. He throws his nets and hauls in the little fishes—the pretty little shining, wriggling fishes. They are all for her; she swallows, 'em down.'
'For her? Do you mean the Princess?'
'Who else should I mean? Take care, my tadpole!'
'Why should I take care? The other day you told me not to.'
'Yes, I remember. But now I see more.'
'Did he speak of her? What did he say?' asked Hyacinth, eagerly.
'I can't tell you now what he said, but I'll tell you what I guessed.'
'And what's that?'
They had been talking, of course, in a very low tone, and their voices were covered by Rosy's chatter in the corner, by the liberal laughter with which Captain Sholto accompanied it, and by the much more discreet, though earnest, intermingled accents of, Lady Aurora and Miss Pynsent. But Paul Muniment spoke more softly still—
