Muniment reflected a moment. “His birth, and his poor mother? I think it was Rosy told me about that.”
“And, pray, how did she know?”
“Ah, when you come to the way Rosy knows!” said Muniment, laughing. “She doesn’t like people in that predicament. She thinks we ought all to be finely born.”
“Then they agree, for so does poor Hyacinth.” The Princess hesitated an instant; then she said, as if with a quick effort, “I want to ask you something. Have you had a visit from Mr Vetch?”
“The old gentleman who fiddles? No, he has never done me that honour.”
“It was because I prevented him, then. I told him to leave it to me.”
“To leave what, now?” Muniment looked at her in placid perplexity.
“He is in great distress about Hyacinth—about the danger he runs. You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Muniment replied, slowly. “But what does he know about it? I thought it was supposed to be a deadly secret.”
“So it is. He doesn’t know anything; he only suspects.”