or flirting, she was, perhaps,
not just the person; but Mrs. Latouche had already gone to propose the
photographs to her.

"She's delighted," she said, coming back. "She is just the person, so
quiet and so bright." And then she told me the young lady was, by name,
Miss Caroline Spencer, and with this she introduced me.

Miss Caroline Spencer was not exactly a beauty, but she was a charming
little figure. She must have been close upon thirty, but she was made
almost like a little girl, and she had the complexion of a child. She
had a very pretty head, and her hair was arranged as nearly as possible
like the hair of a Greek bust, though indeed it was to be doubted if she
had ever seen a Greek bust. She was "artistic," I suspected, so far as
Grimwinter allowed such tendencies. She had a soft, surprised eye, and
thin lips, with very pretty teeth. Round her neck she wore what ladies
call, I believe, a "ruche," fastened with a very small pin in pink
coral, and in her hand she carried a fan made of plaited straw and
adorned with pink ribbon. She wore a scanty black silk dress. She spoke
with a kind of soft precision, showing her white teeth between her
narrow but tender-looking lips, and she seemed extremely pleased, even
a little fluttered, at the prospect of my demonstrations. These went
forward very smoothly, after I had moved the portfolios out of their
corner and placed a couple of chairs near a lamp. The photographs were
usually things I knew,--large views of Switzerland, Italy, and Spain,
landscapes, copies of famous buildings, pictures, and statues. I said
what I could about them, and my companion, looking at them as I
held them up, sat perfectly still, with her straw fan raised to her
underlip. Occasionally, as I laid one of the pictures down, she said
very softly, "Have you seen that place?" I usually answered that I had
seen it several times (I had been a great traveller), and then I felt
that she looked at me askance for a moment with her pretty eyes. I had
asked her at the outset whether she had been to Europe; to this she
answered, "No, no, no," in a little quick, confidential whisper. But
after that, though she never took her eyes off the pictures, she said
so little that I was afraid she was bored. Accordingly, after we had
finished one portfolio, I offered, if she desired it, to desist. I felt
that she was not bored, but her reticence puzzled me, and I wished to
make her speak. I turned round to look at her,