“Ah, you’re as bad as Hyacinth. I am the only consistent one!” the Princess sighed.
“You have a great deal left, for a person who has given everything away.”
“These are not mine—these abominations—or I would give them, too!” Paul’s hostess rejoined, artlessly.
Muniment got up from his chair, still looking about the room. “I would give my nose for such a place as this. At any rate, you are not yet reduced to poverty.”
“I have a little left—to help you.”
“I dare say you’ve a great deal,” said Paul, with his north-country accent.
“I could get money—I could get money,” the Princess continued, gravely. She had also risen, and was standing before him.
These two remarkable persons faced each other, their eyes met again, and they exchanged a long, deep glance of mutual scrutiny. Each seemed to drop a plummet into the other’s mind. Then a strange and, to the Princess, unexpected expression passed over the countenance of the young man; his lips compressed themselves, as if he were making a strong effort, his colour rose, and in a moment he stood there blushing like a boy. He dropped his eyes and stared at the carpet, while he observed, “I don’t trust women—I don’t trust women!”
“I am sorry, but, after all, I can understand it,” said the Princess; “therefore I won’t insist on the question of your allowing me to work with you. But this appeal I will make to you: help me a little yourself—help me!”
“How do you mean, help you?” Muniment demanded, raising his eyes, which had a new, conscious look.