self again. No eagerness, no
petty curiosity, but a grand indifference, a statuesque calm, a
goddess-like withdrawal from the affairs and atmosphere of common
mortals. Indeed it is not she who will ask for details that any other
woman would burn to know: a single question as to the vital point, and
then "what else have you to tell me?" The rest might keep a day, a week,
a month. Her taste was always for large outlines, her mind has breadth
and grasp and comprehension; when she seemed to care for little things,
she was at play. In a matter like this, her secret thoughts are the main
element; what others may think or say or do need be noticed only as
contributing material for them to work with. What has vexed her all this
time has been that the sacrilege of events had put one factor in the
problem out of reach, beyond her control: she has been used to having
all she wanted of the earth, and deigning to want but little of it and
to value that little but lightly. Now that she cares for something at
last, and it is at her call again, she will weigh and measure the
situation, and all its aspects and possibilities, in the silent council
chamber of her soul, and the decision will go forth before any one
ventures to ask what it may be. Stay in your cave, hermit of Wayback,
and say your _Ave Clarissa_ as patiently as you can: when the edict
calls you to court, your part will be cast for you, and you will have
nothing to do but say the lines. If you break bounds again and stray
from your proper posture before the throne, or put in any more of your
irreverent gags, I am done with you.

I have wrought your will, my Princess, and brought back your pretty toy,
for you to mend or break: you hardly mean to break it. Yet it is a pity
to see you descend to common uses, to ordering a house and taking care
of poor old Jim; you were born to shine apart in solitary state, and
have men gaze at you wistfully from far below. No man can rate more
highly than I the domestic relations, affections, virtues; but I don't
like to see you put yourself in the category of mere human beings, as if
marriage and a man were good enough for you. You will have your way, now
as always, and use me at your will: it is you who have the ordering of
this funeral, not I.

As she did not seem to like my style last night, I had better be sober
and plain this afternoon; sort of Quaker thee and thou, without artistic
embellishments. Yes, by Jove, I'll have to be, for the