"Gracious me, child, anybody can get your photograph. Isn't it in all the shop-windows?"
"Not in South America."
"Oh, yes; they are getting quite civilized over there now."
Charlotte struck at a venture.
"You sent it; you know you did! Yes, and then he sent you that thing of himself."
"My dear Charlotte," said the Queen composedly, "you needn't get excited; these little exchanges do sometimes happen quite naturally in the course of correspondence, and I have a great deal of correspondence as you know. Now do forget everything that foolish newspaper has been saying, and look at the thing sensibly. Isn't it my duty to give you every chance of meeting those—those whom it is suitable for you to meet? Are you always going to begin by saying you won't know people?"
"Begin what?" Charlotte shot the question; the Queen turned it aside and went on.
"Now here is a case: this young man who has been away three years among savages—I wonder he wasn't eaten by them—running into all sorts of dangers and doing a lot of foolish brave things that he needn't have done; and then his uncle, the Prince, dying behind his back and everything left to a regency waiting his return. Isn't it quite natural, seeing how things are, that he should be wishing to settle down? Now I am going to be quite frank with you. He has seen your photograph, I know; but I didn't send it to him, and he didn't send me his. We heard that he intended coming to see us—to Jingalo, I mean—and after that I got it; as a matter of fact his aunt, the Margravine, sent it to me; and I, in exchange, sent her yours."
"Ah! so that was why she came to see us directly we got here, and why she looked at me so, and kept asking me so many questions about myself. I couldn't understand it at the time—her being so curious. But you knew, yes, you knew!"
"Well, what if I did?"