On the way back home, thoughts raced through my head... Everything had passed so quickly that I had lived through it all without thinking of what was happening; but now, as the train carried us along, I began to review everything that had taken place during the weekend... I decided that the Prince was one of those rare and attractive personalities; he had a gift for creating an atmosphere of friendship, warmth, and intimacy, while possessing an uncommon quickness of wit that brought him close to the hearts of his companions, until it drove from their minds the atmosphere of royalty and the formality and coldness that surround it.

I remembered how he and his brother had tried to draw Ernest and me into their circle and make us share in the varied conversations; and I noticed that they had been taught this in their upbringing, since they know that others may not feel entirely at ease with them. They were, besides, fond of friends, yet I felt there was a barrier standing between them and their hunting companions.

And in the depths of my mind there remained an impression I had formed of the Prince of Wales... I had been charmed by the touch of melancholy that overspread his features — so that his winning smile often failed to drive it away.

I suddenly found myself looking at "Benny" and showering her with a stream of questions: "Do you think he is truly happy?" She answered me that he enjoys himself on holidays like these, and that he loves riding; but when you consider how much of his life must be acting — the daily political duties, and the cares of the Empire — it becomes hard to say for certain that he is very happy.

I asked her again whether he was thinking of marriage, for it is truly a pity that there should not be at his side an understanding lady to share his cares and his joys, and to lighten for him the weight of the things we call duties... There was no doubt that he lived a life of harsh loneliness... And so I came out of that battle of thought with a conclusion that convinced me he had a charming personality, and that his life was utterly different from the life of ordinary people; but I dismissed from my head any idea of meeting him again.

And so it was, for I did not see the Prince after that until the spring of 1931 — that is, six months later. He had left London on a long journey to South America, and it was natural that I should follow the news of that journey in the papers, and gaze at the photographs taken of the Prince at parties and official receptions; and inwardly I kept thinking that there was another person behind this mask which the Prince wore whenever he went out before the public — a lonely soul, withdrawn, perplexed... And I heard other things from Ernest's friends: I learned that he was independent, contrary to the ways of kings, and that he had cut from the program of his journey many of the appointments and foolish functions which he felt were nothing but a waste of