the Regent’s Park, near by, with her father, the Principino and Miss Bogle.  Amerigo now again, in his punctual impatience, went out a couple of times and stood there; after which, as to report that nothing was in sight, he returned to the room with frankly nothing else to do.  The Princess pretended to read; he looked at her as he passed; there hovered in her own sense the thought of other occasions when she had cheated appearances of agitation with a book.  At last she felt him standing before her, and then she raised her eyes.

“Do you remember how, this morning, when you told me of this event, I asked you if there were anything particular you wished me to do?  You spoke of my being at home, but that was a matter of course.  You spoke of something else,” he went on, while she sat with her book on her knee and her raised eyes; “something that makes me almost wish it may happen.  You spoke,” he said, “of the possibility of my seeing her alone.  Do you know, if that comes,” he asked, “the use I shall make of it?” And then as she waited:  “The use is all before me.”

“Ah, it’s your own business now!” said his wife.  But it had made her rise.

“I shall make it my own,” he answered.  “I shall tell her I lied to her.”

“Ah no!” she returned.

“And I shall tell her you did.”

She shook her head again.  “Oh, still less!”

With which therefore they stood at difference, he with his head erect and his happy idea perched, in its eagerness, on his crest.  “And how then is she to know?”

“She isn’t to know.”

“She’s only still to think you don’t—?”

“And therefore that I’m always a fool?  She may think,” said Maggie, “what she likes.”

“Think it without my protest—?”

The Princess made a movement.  “What business is it of yours?”

“Isn’t it my right to correct her—?”

Maggie let his question ring—­ring long enough for him to hear it himself; only then she took it up. “‘Correct’ her?”—­and it was her own now that really rang.  “Aren’t you rather forgetting who she is?” After which, while he quite stared for it, as it was the very first clear majesty he had known her to use, she flung down her book and raised a warning hand.  “The carriage.  Come!”

The “Come!” had matched, for lucid firmness, the rest of her speech, and, when they were below, in the hall, there was a “Go!” for him, through the open doors and between the ranged servants, that matched even that.  He received Royalty, bareheaded, therefore, in the persons of Mr. and Mrs. Verver, as it alighted on the pavement, and Maggie was at the threshold to welcome it to her house.  Later on, upstairs again, she even herself felt still more the force of the limit of which she had just reminded him; at tea, in Charlotte’s affirmed presence—­as Charlotte affirmed it—­she drew a long breath of richer relief.  It was the strangest, once more, of all impressions; but what she most felt,