When they had settled down into the soft, leather cushions of the victoria she sighed luxuriously and said:
"This is nice! I wish—" and broke off short.
"What?" asked Fitz.
"Oh," she said, "that the horses would start, and take us all over Paris and back, and everybody would see us go by, and envy us. But mamma and I," she said, "are devoted to fiacres—not smart, are they?"
"I don't mind," said Fitz, "if they go where I tell 'em to, and don't set up a row over the pourboire."
"Still," said she, "it must be nice to have carriages and things. We used to have. Only I can hardly remember. Mamma says I have a dreadfully short memory."
"How long have you been abroad?" Fitz asked.
"Dear me," she said, "ever so long. I don't remember."
"Won't it be fun," said Fitz, "to go home?"
"America?" She hesitated. "Mamma says it's all so crude and rude. I forget."