“Yes, no doubt it’s a very great thing. But it will be a still greater thing when you’re there.”
“I’m afraid you hope too much,” the young man observed. “Where is it? I don’t think you told me.”
The Princess drew a small folded letter from her pocket and, without saying anything, held it out to him. He got up to take it from her, opened it and as he read it remained standing in front of her. Then he went straight to the fire and thrust the paper into it. At this act she rose quickly, as to save the document, but the expression of his face while he turned round to her made her stop. The smile that came into her own was a little forced. “What are you afraid of?” she asked. “I take it the house is known. If we go I suppose we may admit that we go.”
Paul’s face showed he had been annoyed, but he answered quietly enough: “No writing—no writing.”
“You’re terribly careful,” said the Princess.
“Careful of you—yes.”
She sank upon her sofa again, asking her companion to ring for tea; they would do much better to have it before going out. When the order had been given she went on: “I see I shall have much less keen emotion than when I acted by myself.”
“Is that what you go in for—keen emotion?”
“Surely, Mr. Muniment. Don’t you?”
“God forbid! I hope to have as little of any sort as possible.”