us relish of her own probable dismay which relaxed
the investigating impulse. His impulse was now simply to prove to her
that he was the most unobjectionable fellow in the world--a proposition
which resolved itself into several ingenious observations upon the
weather, the music, the charms and the drawbacks of Baden, the merits of
the volume that she held in her lap. If Mrs. Vivian should be annoyed,
should be fluttered, Bernard would feel very sorry for her; there was
nothing in the world that he respected more than the moral consciousness
of a little Boston woman whose view of life was serious and whose
imagination was subject to alarms. He held it to be a temple of
delicacy, where one should walk on tiptoe, and he wished to exhibit
to Mrs. Vivian the possible lightness of his own step. She herself
was incapable of being rude or ungracious, and now that she was fairly
confronted with the plausible object of her mistrust, she composed
herself to her usual attitude of refined liberality. Her book was a
volume of Victor Cousin.

"You must have an extraordinary power of abstracting your mind," Bernard
said to her, observing it. "Studying philosophy at the Baden Kursaal
strikes me as a real intellectual feat."

"Don't you think we need a little philosophy here?"

"By all means--what we bring with us. But I should n't attempt the use
of the text-book on the spot."

"You should n't speak of yourself as if you were not clever," said Mrs.
Vivian. "Every one says you are so very clever."

Longueville stared; there was an unexpectedness in the speech and an
incongruity in Mrs. Vivian's beginning to flatter him. He needed
to remind himself that if she was a Bostonian, she was a Bostonian
perverted.

"Ah, my dear madam, every one is no one," he said, laughing.

"It was Mr. Wright, in particular," she rejoined. "He has always told us
that."

"He is blinded by friendship."

"Ah yes, we know about your friendship," said Mrs. Vivian. "He has told
us about that."

"You are making him out a terrible talker!"

"We think he talks so well--we are so very fond of his conversation."

"It 's usually excellent," said Bernard. "But it depends a good deal on
the subject."

"Oh," rejoined Mrs. Vivian, "we always let him choose his subjects." And
dropping her eyes as if in sudden reflection, she began to smooth down
the crumpled corner of her volume.

It occurred to Bernard that--by some mysterious impulse--she was
suddenly pres