She had covered her face with her hands, and held them so for a little while, then she let them fall slowly to her lap.
"If I tell you the truth," she said, "it will not be my fault if you still trust me too much. I don't want it to be my fault. The worst of me is, that I am neither bad nor good, and that I cannot live without excitement. I am always changing and trying experiments. When one experiment fails, I try another. They all fail after a while, or I get tired of them."
"Poor child!" he said.
She stirred slightly; one of the flowers fell from her belt upon her lap, and she let it lie there.
"It does not matter," she answered. "All that matters is, that you should know the truth about me,—that I am not to be depended upon, and that, above all, you need not be surprised at any change you see in me."
"When we meet again in Washington?" he suggested.
She hesitated a moment and then made her response.
"When we meet again in Washington, or at any time."
"Are you warning me?" he inquired.
"Yes," was her reply, and he recognized that in spite of her effort it was faintly given. "I am warning you."