The princess disagreed. They did not have the same opportunities, she said; the mistresses were more vigilant. The extravagance of the Haines household actually hurt her, coming as she did from a group where extravagance had ceased to be possible. But Charlotte would not admit that she had any responsibility.
"Really, dear Lisa," she said almost crossly, "I have better things to think about than housekeeping."
Well, the princess wondered what those things were.
As the days went by and as small party succeeded small party, Lisa noted that she met no American men--or hardly any--at Charlotte's house, and she asked finally why this was.
"Do they work so hard they can't dine out?"
"No--or, rather, yes, they work hard; but that's not why I don't ask them. They're so uninteresting--you would be bored to death by them."
"I'd rather like to try," said the princess mildly.
Charlotte contracted her straight eyebrows in thought. "I'll try to think of some not too awful," she said.
And a few evenings afterward the princess found herself next to a nice little chattering gentleman who spoke Italian better than she did, and made lace with his own hands. On the other side was a former ambassador--a charming person, but of no nation or age. She had known him in Paris for years. She sighed gently. She wanted to meet a financial colossus. She liked men--real ones.
Needless to say that in the Haines house she had her own sitting room--a delightful little room hung in old crimson velvet, with a wood fire always blazing on the hearth. The first day when Charlotte brought her into it she apologized for a picture over the mantelpiece.
"The things one puts in the spare room!" she said. "My husband bought that picture at an auction once, because it reminded him of the farm he was brought up on. I didn't dare give it away, but there's no reason why you should be inflicted with it." And she raised her arm to take it down.
"No! Leave it; I like it," said the princess. "It's delightful--that blue sky and clouds."
She was quite sincere in saying she liked it. She did. Often she would look up from her book and let her eyes fall with pleasure on the small green and blue and white canvas, and wonder in what farming district Mr. Haines had been brought up--and in what capacity.