She sighed. "Well, this is nothing new. Emily’s sob story, year thirty-two. I think it’s through between me and Arthur now. He’s an artistic type. A photographer. Not in business at all. I thought it might work out. But I was wrong as usual." She shrugged. "I should look at the bright side, right? He didn’t ask me for money and he didn’t give me a retrovirus. And he wasn’t married. A real prince."