"Self-understanding is the rarest of all gifts," the prince remarked. "It is left for those who love us to understand us."
"And you?"
"I believe that I understand you better, far better, than you understand yourself," he declared. "That is why I also believe that I am necessary to you. I can prevent your making mistakes."
"Then prevent me," she begged. "Something has happened, and the chart is in the fire to-day."
"You have only," he said, "to give your maid her orders, to give me this little hand, and I will draw out a fresh one which shall direct to the place in life which is best for you. It is not too late."
She rose from beside him and walked toward the fireplace, as if to touch the bell. He watched her with steady eyes but expressionless face. There was something curious about her walk. The spring had gone from her feet, her shoulders were a little hunched. It was the walk of a woman who goes toward the things she fears.
"Stop!" he bade her.
She turned and faced him, quickly, almost eagerly. There was a look in her face of the prisoner who finds respite.
"Leave the bell alone," he directed. "My own plans are changed. I do not wish to leave London this week."
Her face was suddenly brilliant, her eyes shone. Something electric seemed to quiver through her frame. She almost danced back to her place by his side.