“Know, Sir Author, that I am the Princess Baba of Valeria.”
He rose and knelt and said: “Princess! What have I done!”
“Rise, my friend. Men no longer need to kneel to Royalty.”
“Princess, what shall I say! Oh, what have I done! How can I apologise for this intrusion!”
The young Princess cried: “Why, here is an idea! You might begin by kissing my hand. I assure you that that is quite usual. But oh, my friend, you must please not kiss my hand while you are kneeling! That will never, never do, for a man who is kneeling before a woman has her at a great disadvantage. Provided, of course, that the woman has a temperament. I am, unfortunately, full of temperament. My father is very worried about me.”
“Princess, this is not the first time I have kissed your hand.”
“Oh!” sighed the Princess Baba, and the young writer did his part like a man and a cavalier, whereupon she said: “You have a very pretty way of kissing a lady’s hand, Sir Author. And I had been told it was a lost art in England!”
“All the arts were lost in England by our fathers, Princess. Youth is just rediscovering them.”
“Young man,” said the Princess severely, “do you think it quite wise to be so full of self-confidence as all that?”
“Princess, forgive me! But I am so poor that I have to be full of what costs me least.”