"Yes,--it's the Prince who sets out to seek his fortune, isn't it? The
Princess has to sit at home and wait for hers to come to her. It
generally does if she's a real Princess."

"But half the fun must be the seeking for it," said Betty.

"You're right," said he, "it is."

The labourer had reached the park-gate. His pace had quickened to the
quickening remembrance of his own daughter, sitting at home silent and
sullen.

"Do you really see it in my hand?" asked Betty,--"about my crossing
the sea, I mean."

"It's there; but it depends on yourself, like everything else."

"I did ask my step-father to let me go," she said, "after that first
day, you know, when you said I ought to study in Paris."

"And he wouldn't, of course?"

"No; he said Paris was a wicked place. It isn't really, is it?"

"Every place is wicked," said he, "and every place is good. It's all
as one takes things."

The Rectory gate clicked sharply as it swung to behind the labourer.
The Rectory gravel scrunched beneath the labourer's boots.