our them with anything like so much of his
company before. Even old Tant' Plessis had remarked upon it, appending
by way of rider the query as to when he was going to marry Wenlock's
sister, "the only English girl" and so forth, which joke had become a
standing one by then. But Aletta could afford to laugh at it now, in
the most whole-souled manner, which development was among the results of
that memorable visit.

All their talks together--now grave, now semi-serious, now wholly gay--
she delighted to dwell upon. This man was entirely outside her previous
experience. Nothing he said ever jarred, even in the slightest degree.
There was no question they discussed together to which he could not find
a perfectly intelligible side, even if differing; no show of impatience
or of humouring her; everything treated from a philosophical,
well-thought-out point of view. Or, if the topic were of lighter
import, the exact point where the humour came in would somehow strike
them simultaneously. There was a subtle vein of sympathy between them,
and to dwell upon it thrilled her with a blissful and exquisite delight.

Other considerations apart, it was intensely flattering, the more so as
she realised that the attitude was genuine. She had met with plenty of
attention during her absence from home, but her head had not been in the
least turned thereby. But of all the attention she had met, none had
been so grateful, so satisfying, and indeed so sweet as this.
Sometimes, in fact, she would wonder if she were not over-estimating its
burden, but the momentary misgiving would be quenched. Tone, glance,
everything told her that such was not the case.

Yet what could he see in her, to take so much pleasure in talking with
her, he who had seen so much of the world what time she herself was
running about in short frocks, not so very long able to talk distinctly?
How could he give so much consideration to her crude ideas--acquired
and fostered, she supposed, during a not very long sojourn in a
fifth-rate capital--he who had seen all the mighty capitals of both
worlds, and knew some of them intimately? Personally, too, where did
the attraction lie? She was not even pretty, like her sister Andrina,
or May Wenlock. Yet, comparing herself with the latter, a smile spread
over her face, rippling out into a low, whole-hearted laugh, all alone
as she was.

Now the above reflections constituted just about as full and complete a
tribute as