"I could do nothing myself, you know."
"Except think of the very best thing to be done," I said.
"You are kind, but then I think you must be always so."
"It is not always possible, Princess."
"But you are generally, and so I am going to ask a favour for my host: it is that your Majesty will stay for a few days here if you can spare the time."
"This is my holiday, Prince, and I am for once my own master, so I will accept your invitation with great pleasure, but only on condition that you do not alter your accustomed routine of life. Let me remain Mr. Stevens as hitherto, for I think it would be unwise to publish the fact that I am staying here. Of course I must let my Ministers know. Mr. Neville will see to that, and also secure some more suitable apparel, if you will lend him the means to reach Askoff."
"Your Majesty does me much honour," said the old gentleman, who was evidently greatly pleased with the alacrity with which I had accepted his invitation. I have often wondered since whether he had seen how much I enjoyed the company of the Princess, and whether she had hinted that we might stay if invited.
For two days we lived the ordinary life of the château, and I was as happy as I have ever been. It was all so new to me, for, although there had been my own home-life in England, this was far more intimate than mine had ever been; or perhaps it was simply that now I thought about it, and before I had not. Whatever it was, it made me wish to have a home-life of my own.
I am afraid that I victimised the Princess, for I demanded a great deal of her time. I was greedy for her company, I revelled in the presence of so fair a companion; but all the time, happy though I was, there lurked the question: am I to leave her behind and retain but a memory? I debated this point with myself over and over again: how could I be sure after so short an acquaintance that I really cared for her in the way which to my mind was absolutely necessary? I, myself, was as certain in my heart that I had met my match as I could be of anything, but my brain bade me beware of jumping to a conclusion before deep meditation. I knew that she attracted me physically, that there was a quality in her personality which answered to a similar quality in mine, but I did not know whether I was intoxicated with love or really in love. Was I, with youthful inexperience, mistaking the abstract desire for the reality?
I would try to argue with myself as to my own feelings, and failed dismally more often than not, but I know that I invariably ended my mental researches with the rather naïve question: and what are her feelings in the matter? That would send me down into the depths of despair, and make me wish that I had gone to Sonale, but the next moment I regretted such thoughts, and looked upon them with a feeling of disgust, almost of disloyalty, for how could I surmise the worst before putting the question to the person most concerned?