“Well, that’s just what it’s lovely to have from you.  From the moment you’re not—­the least little bit—­I’ll immediately invite her.”

“But where in the world is she?” He spoke as if he had not thought of Charlotte, nor so much as heard her name pronounced, for a very long time.  He quite in fact amicably, almost amusedly, woke up to her.

“She’s in Brittany, at a little bathing-place, with some people I don’t know.  She’s always with people, poor dear—­she rather has to be; even when, as is sometimes the case; they’re people she doesn’t immensely like.”

“Well, I guess she likes us,” said Adam Verver.  “Yes—­fortunately she likes us.  And if I wasn’t afraid of spoiling it for you,” Maggie added, “I’d even mention that you’re not the one of our number she likes least.”

“Why should that spoil it for me?”

“Oh, my dear, you know.  What else have we been talking about?  It costs you so much to be liked.  That’s why I hesitated to tell you of my letter.”

He stared a moment—­as if the subject had suddenly grown out of recognition.  “But Charlotte—­on other visits—­never used to cost me anything.”

“No—­only her ‘keep,’” Maggie smiled.

“Then I don’t think I mind her keep—­if that’s all.”  The Princess, however, it was clear, wished to be thoroughly conscientious.  “Well, it may not be quite all.  If I think of its being pleasant to have her, it’s because she will make a difference.”

“Well, what’s the harm in that if it’s but a difference for the better?”

“Ah then—­there you are!” And the Princess showed in her smile her small triumphant wisdom.  “If you acknowledge a possible difference for the better we’re not, after all, so tremendously right as we are.  I mean we’re not—­as satisfied and amused.  We do see there are ways of being grander.”

“But will Charlotte Stant,” her father asked with surprise, “make us grander?”

Maggie, on this, looking at him well, had a remarkable reply.  “Yes, I think.  Really grander.”

He thought; for if this was a sudden opening he wished but the more to meet it.  “Because she’s so handsome?”

“No, father.”  And the Princess was almost solemn.  “Because she’s so great.”

“Great—?”

“Great in nature, in character, in spirit.  Great in life.”

“So?” Mr. Verver echoed.  “What has she done—­in life?”

“Well, she has been brave and bright,” said Maggie.  “That mayn’t sound like much, but she has been so in the face of things that might well have made it too difficult for many other girls.  She hasn’t a creature in the world really—­that is nearly—­belonging to her.  Only acquaintances who, in all sorts of ways, make use of her, and distant relations who are so afraid she’ll make use of them that they seldom let her look at them.”

Mr. Verver was struck—­and, as usual, to some purpose.  “If we get her here to improve us don’t we too then make use of her?”