"I think I'll let you stay till—till to-morrow," she said, with an arch side glance; then added, with a laugh, "What nonsense we are talking! As if you had not as good a right to be here as I have."
"I beg your pardon. I spoke in downright sincerity. You found this quiet place first. In a large hotel, all kinds of people can meet almost as they do on Broadway; but here we must dwell together as one family, and I feel that I have no right to force on you any association without your leave, especially as you are here alone. In a certain sense I introduce myself, and compel you to meet me socially without your permission. You may have formed a very different plan for your summer's rest."
"It is rather rare for a music-teacher to receive so much consideration. It bewilders me a little."
"Pardon me. I soon discovered that you possessed woman's highest rank."
"Indeed! Am I a princess in disguise?"
"You are more than many princesses have been—a lady. And, as I said before, you are here alone."
She turned and looked at me intently, and I felt that if I had not been sincere she would have known it. It was a peculiar and, I eventually learned, a characteristic act. I am now inclined to think that she saw the precise attitude of my mind and feeling toward her; but my awakening interest was as far removed from curiosity as is our natural desire to have a melody completed, the opening strains of which are captivating.
Her face quickly lost its aspect of grave scrutiny, and she looked away, with a slight accession of color.
"Do you want to stay very much?" she asked.
"Miss Warren," I exclaimed, and my expression must have been eager and glad, "you looked at me then as you would at a doubtful stranger, and your glance was searching. You looked as only a woman can—as one who would see her way rather than reason it out. Now tell me in sincerity what you saw."