the silence for a long time. Mr. Carville's retreat had been so sudden
that we could scarcely realize he was gone, that we might not see him
again for perhaps two months. Time was needed, moreover, for us to
adjust our feelings towards him, to comprehend fully the peculiar
circumstances that, while we had been listening to the story of Rosa,
she herself had been in the next house. We had to connect the Genoese
maiden with the reserved and taciturn neighbour who had given us food
for so many conjectures. Nor would our resentment against Mr. Carville,
for breaking off so abruptly, have taken the form of speech all at once.
We were too dazed. We wanted to think. We would not, I say, have broken
the silence for a long time ourselves. But Miss Fraenkel's temperament
was different, and in this case surprising.

With Miss Fraenkel silent thought, I imagine, is not a habit. With her
to think is to speak. The effervescent enthusiasm of her nature makes
speech indispensable. I do not believe that, during the
two-and-a-half-hour recital of Mr. Carville, Miss Fraenkel had any
coherent thoughts. More than any other women the American woman avoids
the cooler levels of intellectual judgment. In one moment she stands,
nude of the commonest knowledge of a person or a thing. In a moment
more, and she appears before your astonished eyes, panoplied in all the
glittering harness of a glowing conviction. Minerva-like, her opinions
and beliefs spring full-armed from the head and front of her great Jove
Intuition. Logic, says the ancient platitude, hangs by the end of a
philosopher's beard; and an American woman would as soon grow hair on
her face as admit reason to her soul. Therein, doubtless, lies her
charm, her artless allurements, her enigmatic manner, her astonishing
success.

Something of this was apparent in Miss Fraenkel as she leaned out of the
window and met our gaze with delighted eyes.

"Isn't he just won-der-ful?" she exclaimed.

"You enjoyed it?" I asked.

"Oh sure! But listen. I've got a plan. Why can't you two make it into a
book? It 'ud be perfectly lovely! You know, Mr. Legge, you're quite an
artist, aren't you? And Mr. Pedderick here, he does some writing. Oh I'm
sure you could do it! You know...." Miss Fraenkel made a pause luminous
with bright glances, "a picture of those two, in the cafe having a
dinner; a real kissing picture. I'm sure she would look so sweet!"

"Ah!" said Bill, "but what's the end of the story?