"Why?" demanded the Italian lady, simply.
It was rather a difficult question to answer with sincerity; and, after hesitating for a moment, Morley Ernstein said--"Why, nobody can tell where they go to--how they spend their time. In short, they throw off that sort of responsibility that they owe to society--the eyes of the world are no longer upon them."
"And is it only the eyes of the world which keep people from doing wrong?" asked the lady.
Morley laughed, and, wishing to change the subject, he answered--"Many other inconveniences might happen, you know--they might fall in love with each other, or do a thousand things of that kind."
"Oh, then I am quite safe!" replied the lady--"for I never yet saw the man whom I felt the least inclination to fall in love with in my life."
"Perhaps you are incapable of love," said Morley. "There are some women so happily constituted by nature, that they never know what it is to be touched by any but the more tranquil affections."
"Perhaps such is the case," she rejoined quite seriously, "or perhaps, what is more likely, I may spend all my feelings upon matters of imagination. A song, a piece of music, a scene in a play, will move me in a degree that I cannot describe. I have generally remarked, and am inclined to believe it is an invariable rule, that people of a strong imagination are very seldom troubled with strong affections."
Her observation threw Morley into a reverie. He asked himself whether it were true, and paused in doubt, not having sufficient experience to solve the question at once by his own knowledge, and plunging into those metaphysical deductions, which lead as often to what is false as to what is true.
The lady went on to say--"I hope--indeed I am sure, that such is the case with myself; for I would not for the world feel such passions as I see depicted and hear told. Thus I know myself to be perfectly safe, and can trust myself in any situation without fear."
"And yet," rejoined Morley, with a meaning smile, "you are an Italian."