They walked into the room together, and after a few more common-place remarks and interchange of ideas in front of the picture in question, the ice was still further broken between them. The two young people entered into quite a lively talk. He became still more fascinated; for her voice was low and sweet, and there was a frank, trusting, communicativeness in her conversation that was perfectly delicious.
They sat for a considerable time together on the divan in front of the picture, but they paid little attention to that great work of art.
Said she, "You must think me very fast to come here all by myself, and what is worse allow you, an entire stranger to me to enter into conversation with me."
"No! It is all my fault. I forced myself upon you. It was very kind on your part not to snub me for my presumption."
She sighed. "Ah! I am afraid I was wrong; but you see I am alone in London, I have no friends here. It is so very lonely for me. It is so pleasant to talk sometimes with—with—well with people like yourself. I think I have some excuse, don't you?"
"Every excuse!"
"And after all, what great harm is there in it? It is rather unconventional perhaps."
"And therefore the pleasanter. I don't see why we should be always tied down by those silly hard-and-fast rules of society."
"No more do I! though I am not one of those strong-minded women who believe in woman's rights. Besides,"—and she laughed prettily—"what harm are you likely to do me? You don't look like a pickpocket or an ogre. I am quite old enough to look after myself, even if you do prove to be anything but what I take you for—a gentleman."