’You’re change for a sovereign to the amount of four hundred and forty-nine thousand shillings every time you speak!’ cried he, kissing my forehead.

He sparkled in good earnest on hearing that I had made acquaintance with the little Princess Ottilia.  What I thought of her, how she looked at me, what I said to her, what words she answered, how the acquaintance began, who were observers of it,—­I had to repair my omission to mention her by furnishing a precise description of the circumstances, describing her face and style, repeating her pretty English.

My father nodded:  he thought I exaggerated that foreign English of hers; but, as I said, I was new to it and noticed it.  He admitted the greater keenness of attention awakened by novelty.

‘Only,’ said he, ‘I rather wonder—­’ and here he smiled at me inquiringly. ‘’Tis true,’ he added, ’a boy of fourteen or fifteen—­ ay, Richie, have your fun out.  A youngster saw the comic side of her.  Do you know, that child has a remarkable character?  Her disposition is totally unfathomable.  You are a deep reader of English poetry, I hope,; she adores it, and the English Navy.  She informed me that if she had been the English people she would have made Nelson king.  The Royal family of England might see objections to that, I told her.  Cries she:  “Oh! anything for a sea-hero.”  You will find these young princes and princesses astonishingly revolutionary when they entertain brains.  Now at present, just at present, an English naval officer, and a poet, stand higher in the esteem of that young Princess Ottilia than dukes, kings, or emperors.  So you have seen her!’ my father ejaculated musingly, and hummed, and said:  ’By the way, we must be careful not to offend our grandpapa Beltham, Richie.  Good acres—­good anchorage; good coffers—­ good harbourage.  Regarding poetry, my dear boy, you ought to be writing it, for I do—­the diversion of leisure hours, impromptus.  In poetry, I would scorn anything but impromptus.  I was saying, Richie, that if tremendous misfortune withholds from you your legitimate prestige, you must have the substantial element.  ’Tis your springboard to vault by, and cushions on the other side if you make a miss and fall.  ’Tis the essence if you have not the odour.’

I followed my father’s meaning as the shadow of a bird follows it in sunlight; it made no stronger an impression than a flying shadow on the grass; still I could verify subsequently that I had penetrated him—­I had caught the outline of his meaning—­though I was little accustomed to his manner of communicating his ideas:  I had no notion of what he touched on with the words, prestige, essence, and odour.

My efforts to gather the reason for his having left me neglected at school were fruitless.  ’Business, business! sad necessity! hurry, worry-the-hounds!’ was his nearest approach to an explicit answer; and seeing I grieved his kind eyes, I abstained.  Nor did I like to defend Mr. Rippenger for expecting to be paid.  We came to that point once or twice, when so sharply wronged did he appear, and vehement and indignant, that I banished thoughts which marred my luxurious contentment in hearing him talk and sing, and behave in his old ways and new habits.