So I reasoned in exclamations, being, to tell truth, tired of seeming to be what I was not quite, of striving to become what I must have divined that I never could quite attain to.  So my worthier, or ideal, self fell away from me.  I was no longer devoted to be worthy of a woman’s love, but consenting to the plot to entrap a princess.  I was somewhat influenced, too, by the consideration, which I regarded as a glimpse of practical wisdom, that Prince Ernest was guilty of cynical astuteness in retaining me as his guest under manifold disadvantages.  Personal pride stood up in arms, and my father’s exuberant spirits fanned it.  He dwelt loudly on his services to the prince, and his own importance and my heirship to mighty riches.  He made me almost believe that Prince Ernest hesitated about rejecting me; nor did it appear altogether foolish to think so, or why was I at the palace?  I had no head for reflections.

My father diverted me by levelling the whole battery of his comic mind upon Peterborough, who had a heap of manuscript, directed against heretical German theologians, to pack up for publication in his more congenial country:  how different, he ejaculated, from this nest—­this forest of heresy, where pamphlets and critical essays were issued without let or hindrance, and, as far as he could see, no general reprobation of the Press, such as would most undoubtedly, with one voice, hail any strange opinions in our happy land at home!  Whether he really understood the function my father prepared him for, I cannot say.  The invitation to dine and pass a night at the lake-palace flattered him immensely.

We went up to the chateau to fetch him.

A look of woe was on Peterborough’s countenance when we descended at the palace portals:  he had forgotten his pipe.

‘You shall smoke one of the prince’s,’ my father said.  Peterborough remarked to me,—­’We shall have many things to talk over in England.’

’No tobacco allowed on the premises at Riversley, I ‘m afraid,’ said I.

He sighed, and bade me jocosely to know that he regarded tobacco as just one of the consolations of exiles and bachelors.

‘Peterborough, my good friend, you are a hero!’ cried my father.  ’He divorces tobacco to marry!’

‘Permit me,’ Peterborough interposed, with an ingenuous pretension to subtle waggery, in itself very comical,—­’permit me; no legitimate union has taken place between myself and tobacco!’

’He puts an end to the illegitimate union between himself and tobacco that he may marry according to form!’ cried my father.

We entered the palace merrily, and presently Peterborough, who had worn a studious forehead in the midst of his consenting laughter, observed, ‘Well, you know, there is more in that than appears on the surface.’