"You shall hear," she said, and told him of the things that had been told to her.
"It was the queerest little man who came to me—with a soft beautifully modulated voice, a softly moving little gentleman who sidled into the room like a cat and put his pretty white hand up so, whenever he had anything significant to say. He is bald, but not of course nakedly bald, and his nose and face are chubby rosy little things and his beard is trimmed to a point in quite the loveliest way. He pretended to have emotions several times and made his eyes shine. You know he is quite a friend of the real royal family here, and he called me his dear young lady and was perfectly sympathetic even from the beginning. 'My dear young lady,' he said, 'you know—you mustn't,' several times, and then, 'you owe a duty.'"
"Where do they make such men?"
"He likes it," she said.
"But I don't see———"
"He told me serious things."
"You don't think," he said, turning on her abruptly, "that there's anything in the sort of thing he said?"
"There's something in it quite certainly," said she.
"You mean———?"
"I mean that without knowing it we have been trampling on the most sacred conceptions of the little folks. We who are royal are a class apart. We are worshipped prisoners, processional toys. We pay for worship by losing—our elementary freedom. And I was to have married that Prince— You know
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