“An enchantress?” repeated Stanmer, looking at me askance.
He is a very simple youth, but who am I to blame him?
“A charmer,” I said “a fascinatress!”
He turned away, staring at the altar candles.
“An artist—an actress,” I went on, rather brutally.
He gave me another glance.
“I think you are telling me all,” he said.
“No, no, there is more.” And we sat a long time in silence.
At last he proposed that we should go out; and we passed in the street, where the shadows had begun to stretch themselves.
“I don’t know what you mean by her being an actress,” he said, as we turned homeward.