“And what did Mr Muniment say?” she presently inquired.
“Oh, he said it was all right. Of course he thought that, from the moment he determined to bring me. He knew what the other fellow was looking for.”
“I see.” Then the Princess remarked, “We have a curious way of being fond of you.”
“Whom do you mean by ‘we’?”
“Your friends. Mr Muniment and I, for instance.”
“I like it as well as any other. But you don’t feel alike. I have an idea you are sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“That I have put my head in a noose.”
“Ah, you’re severe—I thought I concealed it so well!” the Princess exclaimed. He admitted that he had been severe, and begged her pardon, for he was by no means sure that there was not a hint of tears in her voice. She looked away from him for a minute, and it was after this that, stopping short, she remarked, as I have related, “He is Diedrich Hoffendahl.”
Hyacinth stared for a moment, with parted lips. “Well, you are in it, more than I supposed!”