"Oh, no," she said. "At least I have every reason to believe not, and I devoutly hope not. He belongs I expect to what they call in England the middle class. He has an uncle who is a farmer."
Frau Brandt's good old brown eyes showed her profoundly shocked, and expressed profound reprehension.
"But you were speaking with him familiarly—you were speaking with him almost as an equal," she pronounced in bated accents, in accents of consternation.
Again Maria Dolores laughed.
"True," she assented gaily, "and that is exactly what I couldn't do if he were noble. Then I should have to remember our respective positions. But where the difference of rank is so great, one can talk familiarly without fear. Ça n'engage à rien."
Frau Brandt nodded her head, for full half a minute, with many meanings; she nodded it now up and down, and now shook it sidewise.
"I do not like it," she said, at last. "Your brother would not like it. It is not becoming. Well, thanks be to Heaven, he is only English."
"Oh, of course," agreed Maria Dolores, "if he were Austrian, it would be entirely different."
"But is it fair to the young man himself?" pursued Frau Brandt. "Is he aware that he is hobanobbing with a Serene Highness? You treat him as an equal. What if he should fall in love with you?"
"What indeed! But he won't," laughed Maria Dolores, possibly with a mental reservation.