“She nodded in reply, and stooping down, plucked a long blade of grass, which she placed in her mouth and began to nibble—bashfully, I thought.
“‘May I ask where you come from?’ I said. ‘I mean, where do you live?’
“Without speaking, she stretched out her arm and pointed across the lake in the direction of the sea. I could not help noticing then, as an artist, that the sleeve of her gown was loose and torn, and that her arm was round and well-formed, and her hand, though rough and sun-burned, quite genteelly small.
“‘If it is not inquisitive, may I ask your name?’
“‘Matt,’ was the reply.
“‘Is that all? What is your other name?’ “‘I’ve got no other name. I’m Matt, I am.’
“‘Indeed. Do your parents live here?’
“‘Got no parents,’ was the reply.
“‘Your relations, then. You belong to some one, I suppose?’
“She gave me another nod.