“One class is as ready to be humbugged as the other.  Who knows that better than you?”

“In the religious and charitable work to which I have given up my life,” deliberately measuring his words, “there are few impostors to be met.  We usually detect fraud, with God’s help, and do not suffer from it, therefore.”

She stopped short, looking at him with blank amazement.  Then walked on with a shrug:  “Absolutely!  He expects me to believe in him!  He believes in himself!  Can imposture go further than that?”

Mrs. Wilde, in the distance, caught sight of the two figures as they passed through a belt of sunlight, and smiled contentedly.

“I am so glad to bring poor madame under direct religious influence!  Mr. Van Ness is speaking to her with great earnestness, I perceive.”

The Princess Trebizoff scanned the great reformer as they walked, appraising him, from the measured solemn step to his calm humility of eye.  She would have relished a passionate scene with him.  After terrapin and champagne, there was nothing she relished so much as emotion and tears.  But they had played up to each other so often!  The tragedy in their relation had grown terribly stale!  You could not, she felt, make Hamlet’s inky cloak out of dyed cotton.  But he would serve as audience.

“I’m growing very tired of good society,” talking rapidly as usual.  “Now, you always enjoyed a dead level, Pliny.”

“Yes.  There’s no Bohemian blood in my veins.  I was designed for respectability.”

“So?  I mean Ted shall be respectable,” with sudden earnestness.  “He is in a Presbyterian college.  I should be glad if he’d go into the ministry.  Yes, I should.  Provided he had a call from God.  I’ll have no sham professions from Ted,” her black eyes sparkling.  “You did not ask for the boy.  In your weighty affairs doubtless you forgot there was such a human being.”

“No, indeed.  In what institution have you placed Thaddeus?”

“No matter.  He’s out of your influence, thank God!  He never heard your name.  But as for me, I think I’ll drop this princess business soon,” meditatively.  “I began down town,” with a fresh burst of vivacity.  “On the boarding-house keepers.  Last December.”

“You are Madame Varens!  Is it possible?” turning to look at her.  “The papers were filled with your exploits last winter.”

“Precisely!” She had a joyous girlish laugh, infectious enough to draw a smile from Van Ness.

“You are really very clever, Charlotte,” admiringly.

“I made a tour in the West just before that,” excitedly, patting her hands together.  “Agent for Orphans’ Homes in the Gulf States.  I wrote a letter of introduction from one or two bishops to the clergymen in their dioceses:  that started me, and the clergy and press passed me through.  What a mill of tea-drinkings and church-gossip I went through!  But it was better fun than this.”