I keep getting sidetracked by interesting things on the internet, and real life, and all that sort of thing. This is almost all that I have written today:

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I changed the subject. 'Tell me, then. What news? I rely on you, Theresa.'

'Well -' She sat up, and fidgeted with the book on her lap. 'Have you heard about the little Countess of Andersheim?'

'Baby Luise? What about her?'

'Scarlet fever,' Theresa said gravely, crossing herself. 'She is not expected to live.'

'Oh! -' I stopped, torn between two conflicting feelings – concern for the poor child, who, after all, could not help her parentage or her protector, and a guilty relief.

Theresa was looking at me with an understanding that surprised me, though I suppose it ought not have done. 'I know. One doesn't like a child to suffer – and yet, Alexander von Winterstadt!'

'If he's red, he's right,' I quoted with some irony. 'Well, at this juncture it ought not to matter – from the point of view of the succession, I mean – but still...'

And, because there was no safe way to continue the conversation, and because Theresa evidently wanted to return to her book, I made an excuse, and left.