“Oh! as for my type,” I said, languidly, “I know all about that. Mrs. Carruthers said no one with this combination of colour could be good, so I am not going to try. It will be quite simple.”

He rose quickly from his chair, and stood in front of the great log fire, such a comical expression on his face.

“You are the quaintest child I have ever met,” he said.

“I am not a child—and I mean to know everything I can.”

He went over towards the sofa again, and arranged the cushions—great, splendid, fat pillows of old Italian brocade, stiff with gold and silver.

“Come!” he pleaded, “sit here beside me, and let us talk; you are miles away there, and I want to—make you see reason.”

[30]

[30]

I rose at once, and came slowly to where he pointed. I settled myself deliberately, there was one cushion of purple and silver right under the light, and there I rested my head.

“Now talk!” I said, and half closed my eyes.

Oh! I was enjoying myself! The first time I have ever been alone with a real man! They—the old ambassadors, and politicians, and generals, used always to tell me I should grow into an attractive woman—now I meant to try what I could do.

Mr. Carruthers remained silent—but he sat down beside me, and looked, and looked right into my eyes.

“Now talk then,” I said again.

“Do you know, you are a very disturbing person,” he said at last, by way of a beginning.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It is a woman who confuses one’s thought when one looks at her. I do not now seem to have anything to say—or too much.”

“You called me a child.”

“I should have called you an enigma.”

[31]

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