"So you do walk sometimes, after all," he said.
"Never. I am only strolling. I drove here with Aunt Ruth, but, as she came upon a party of American friends who are going to-morrow, I gave up my place, and they are driving around together for a while, and no doubt settling the entire affairs of Westchester County."
"I am glad she met them; I am glad to find you alone. I have something I wish much to say to you."
"Such a beginning always frightens me. Pray postpone it."
"On the contrary, I shall hasten it. I must make the most of this rare opportunity. Do you remember when you did me the honor, Miss Stowe, to make me the subject of an experiment?"
"You insist upon recalling that piece of folly?" she said, opening her parasol. Her tone was composed and indifferent.
"I recall it because I wish to base something upon it. I wish to ask you—to allow yourself to be passively the subject of an experiment on my part, an experiment of the same nature."
She glanced at him; he half smiled. "Did you imagine, then, that mine was in earnest?" she said, with a fine, light scorn, light as air.
"I never imagine anything. Imaginations are useless."
"Not so useless as experiments. Let yours go, and tell me rather what you found to like in—Trieste."