She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:
"You—you are not married, I suppose?"
"Not in the least," I replied, smiling.
"There is hardly time for much preparation," was her next observation. "What kind of clothing should I need?"
"After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal supply of articles" (I stammered slightly) "that need laundering, as there may be a fortnight at a time when washing cannot be obtained; thin shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three hats—and—" I paused to think if I had omitted anything—"an umbrella and parasol."
She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she refused to go.
"No gloves?" she inquired, archly. "No cape, no—"
"Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you," I admitted, "that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide."
She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.
"Have you decided?" she replied, parrying the question. "You cannot have seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the matter open for a day or two."