"I might," Eve replied absently. And she turned away to the other side of the square.
"By-the-bye, you have a friend in Paris. Do you ever hear from her?"
"She wrote once or twice after she went back; but it has come to an end."
"Still, you might find her again, if you were there."
Eve delayed her reply a little, then spoke impatiently.
"What is the use of setting my thoughts upon such things? Day after day I try to forget what I most wish for. Talk about yourself, and I will listen with pleasure; but never talk about me."
"It's very hard to lay that rule upon me. I want to hear you speak of yourself. As yet, I hardly know you, and I never shall unless you——"
"Why should you know me?" she interrupted, in a voice of irritation.
"Only because I wish it more than anything else, I have wished it from the day when I first saw your portrait."
"Oh! that wretched portrait! I should be sorry if I thought it was at all like me."