"I suppose you know that I went to England?"
"I know nothing. But yes—I do know that you are going to—Tarascon."
"I shall not go if you will permit what I have asked."
"Isn't it rather suddenly planned?" she said, ironically. "You did not know we were coming."
"Very suddenly. I have thought of it only since yesterday."
They had strolled into a narrow path which led by one of those patches of underwood of which there are several in the Cascine—little bosky places carefully preserved in a tangled wildness which is so pretty and amusing to American eyes, accustomed to the stretch of real forests.
"You don't know how I love these little patches," said Miss Stowe. "There is such a good faith about them; they are charming."
"You were always fond of nature, I remember. I used to tell you that art was better."
"Ah! did you?" she said, her eyes following the flight of a bird.