“I should have liked that,” he quite shamelessly smiled. “I like to see solid wealth.”
“Ah you’re as bad as Hyacinth. I’m the only consistent one!” the Princess sighed.
“You’ve 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 returned artlessly.
He got up from his chair, still looking over the scene. “I’d give my nose for such a place as this. At any rate, you’re not yet reduced to poverty.”
“I’ve a little left—to help you.”
“I’d lay a wager you’ve a great deal,” he declared with his north-country accent.
“I could get money—I could get money,” she 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 her guest; his lips compressed themselves as in the strain of 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 repeated: “I don’t trust women—I don’t trust clever women!”
“I’m sorry, but after all I can understand it,” she said; “therefore I won’t insist on the question of your allowing me to work with you. But this appeal I will make: help me a little yourself—help me!”