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Rh “Why?”

But she made no answer, and sat silent, tracing curves and circles in the dust with her parasol. After a while he said—“I am glad to see that young people have so much liberty here. I understood that the French were not at all like us. You know in America—or at least where I live in Millbrook, girls have every liberty,—go out alone and receive their friends alone, and I was afraid I should miss it here. But I see how it is now, and I am glad I was mistaken.”

She raised her eyes to his and kept them there.

He continued pleasantly—“Since I have sat here I have seen a lot of pretty girls walking alone on the terrace there,—and then you are alone too. Tell me, for I do not know French customs,—do you have the liberty of going to the theatre without a chaperone?”

For a long time she studied his face, and then with a trembling smile said, “Why do you ask me?”

“Because you must know, of course,” he said gaily.

“Yes,” she replied indifferently, “I know.”

He waited for an answer, but getting none, decided that perhaps she had misunderstood him.

“I hope you don’t think I mean to presume on our short acquaintance,” he began,—“in fact it is very odd but I don’t know your name. When Mr. Clifford presented me he only mentioned mine. Is that the custom in France?”

“It is the custom in the Latin Quarter,” she said with a queer light in her eyes. Then suddenly she began talking almost feverishly.—