however, is a sin, and I listen submissively, with an immense desire to be just.  If I have many faults I know it, in a general way, and I try on the whole to do my best.  ‘Voyons,’ I say to myself, ’it is n’t particularly charming to hear one’s self made out such a low person, but it is worth thinking over; there ’s probably a good deal of truth in it, and at any rate we must be as good a girl as we can.  That ’s the great point!  And then here ’s a magnificent chance for humility.  If there ’s doubt in the matter, let the doubt count against one’s self.  That is what Saint Catherine did, and Saint Theresa, and all the others, and they are said to have had in consequence the most ineffable joys.  Let us go in for a little ineffable joy!’ I tried it; I swallowed my rising sobs, I made you my courtesy, I determined I would not be spiteful, nor passionate, nor vengeful, nor anything that is supposed to be particularly feminine.  I was a better girl than you made out—­better at least than you thought; but I would let the difference go and do magnificently right, lest I should not do right enough.  I thought of it a deal for six hours when I know I did n’t seem to be, and then at last I did it!  Santo Dio!”

“My dear Miss Light, my dear Miss Light!” said Rowland, pleadingly.

“Since then,” the young girl went on, “I have been waiting for the ineffable joys.  They have n’t yet turned up!”

“Pray listen to me!” Rowland urged.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing has come of it.  I have passed the dreariest month of my life!”

“My dear Miss Light, you are a very terrible young lady!” cried Rowland.

“What do you mean by that?”

“A good many things.  We ’ll talk them over.  But first, forgive me if I have offended you!”

She looked at him a moment, hesitating, and then thrust her hands into her muff.  “That means nothing.  Forgiveness is between equals, and you don’t regard me as your equal.”

“Really, I don’t understand!”

Christina rose and moved for a moment about the room.  Then turning suddenly, “You don’t believe in me!” she cried; “not a grain!  I don’t know what I would not give to force you to believe in me!”

Rowland sprang up, protesting, but before he had time to go far one of the scanty portieres was raised, and Madame Grandoni came in, pulling her wig straight.  “But you shall believe in me yet,” murmured Christina, as she passed toward her hostess.

Madame Grandoni turned tenderly to Christina.  “I must give you a very solemn kiss, my dear; you are the heroine of the hour.  You have really accepted him, eh?”

“So they say!”

“But you ought to know best.”

“I don’t know—­I don’t care!” She stood with her hand in Madame Grandoni’s, but looking askance at Rowland.

“That ’s a pretty state of mind,” said the old lady, “for a young person who is going to become a princess.”