rely uttering even a monosyllable. Even that little social
warmth that was kindled by the dinner-table seemed to have been chilled
by the drawing-room, where the conversation was maintained in a low,
soft tone, that never rose above a murmur. It may be, perhaps, some
sort of consolation to little folk to think that Princes are generally
sad-looking. The impassable barrier of reserve around them, if it
protect from all the rubs and frictions of life, equally excludes from
much of its genial enjoyment; and all those little pleasantries which
grow out of intimacy are denied those who have no equals.

It was in some such meditation as this Kate Dalton sat, roused
occasionally to bestow a smile or a passing word of acknowledgment in
return for some of those little morsels of compliment and flattery which
old courtiers pay as their rightful tribute to a young and handsome
woman. She was sufficiently accustomed to this kind of homage to accept
it without losing, even for an instant, any train of thought her mind
was pursuing. Nor did the entrance of any new guest, a number of whom
had been invited for the evening, distract her from her half revery.

The salons, without being crowded, now showed a numerous company, all of
whom exhibited in their demeanor that respectful reserve the presence of
royalty ever inspires. It seemed, indeed, as though all the conversation
that went forward was like a mere "aside" to that more important
dialogue which was maintained beside the Prince.

A slow but measured tide of persons passed before him, bowing with
respectful deference as they went. With some he deigned to speak a few
words, others had a smile or a little nod of recognition, and some
again one of those cold and vacant stares with which great people are
occasionally wont to regard little ones. His Royal Highness was not one
of those accomplished princes whose pride it is to know the name, the
family, the pursuits, and predilections of each new presentee. On the
contrary, he was absent, and forgetful to a degree scarcely credible;
his want of memory betraying him into innumerable mistakes, from which,
even had he known, no adroitness of his own could have extricated
him. On this evening he had not been peculiarly fortunate; he had
complimented a minister who had just received his recall in disgrace; he
had felicitated a young lady on her approaching marriage, which had
been broken off; while the burden of his talk to Lady Hester was