'I've heard how well you did last year,' she said, 'and how nice you were to the girls. A friend wrote me all about it. How attentive you were to that little Miss Brown!
'But decently polite,' I answered. 'One has to have somebody or—or be a monk.
'One has to have somebody!' she said, quickly, as she picked at the flower on her bosom and looked down at it soberly. 'That is true one has to have somebody and, you know, I haven't had any lack of company myself. By the way, I have news to tell you.
She spoke slowly and in a low voice with a touch of sadness in it. I felt the colour mounting to my face.
'News!' I repeated. 'What news, I-lope?
'I am going away to England,' she said, 'with Mrs Fuller if—if mother will let me. I wish you would write and ask her to let me go.
I was unhorsed. What to say I knew not, what it meant I could vaguely imagine. There was a moment of awkward silence.
'Of course I will ask her if you wish to go,' I said. 'When do you sail?
'They haven't fixed the day yet.
She sat looking down at her fan, a beautiful, filmy thing between braces of ivory. Her knees were crossed, one dainty foot showing under ruffles of lace. I looked at her a moment dumb with admiration.