for was the fallen aristocracy (it seemed to
be falling everywhere very much; was not Basil Ransom an example of it?
was he not like a French _gentilhomme de province_ after the Revolution?
or an old monarchical _emigre_ from the Languedoc?), the despoiled
patriciate, I say, whose attitude was noble and touching, and toward
whom one might exercise a charity as discreet as their pride was
sensitive. In all Mrs. Luna's visions of herself, her discretion was the
leading feature. "Are you going to let ten years elapse again before you
come?" she asked, as Basil Ransom bade her good-night. "You must let me
know, because between this and your next visit I shall have time to go
to Europe and come back. I shall take care to arrive the day before."

Instead of answering this sally, Ransom said, "Are you not going one of
these days to Boston? Are you not going to pay your sister another
visit?"

Mrs. Luna stared. "What good will that do _you_? Excuse my stupidity,"
she added; "of course, it gets me away. Thank you very much!"

"I don't want you to go away; but I want to hear more about Miss Olive."

"Why in the world? You know you loathe her!" Here, before Ransom could
reply, Mrs. Luna again overtook herself. "I verily believe that by Miss
Olive you mean Miss Verena!" Her eyes charged him a moment with this
perverse intention; then she exclaimed, "Basil Ransom, _are_ you in love
with that creature?"

He gave a perfectly natural laugh, not pleading guilty, in order to
practise on Mrs. Luna, but expressing the simple state of the case. "How
should I be? I have seen her but twice in my life."

"If you had seen her more, I shouldn't be afraid! Fancy your wanting to
pack me off to Boston!" his hostess went on. "I am in no hurry to stay
with Olive again; besides, that girl takes up the whole house. You had
better go there yourself."

"I should like nothing better," said Ransom.

"Perhaps you would like me to ask Verena to spend a month with me--it
might be a way of attracting you to the house," Adeline went on, in the
tone of exuberant provocation.

Ransom was on the point of replying that it would be a better way than
any other, but he checked himself in time; he had never yet, even in
joke, made so crude, so rude a speech to a lady. You only knew when he
was joking with women by his super-added civility. "I beg you to believe
there is nothing I would do for any woman in the world that I wouldn't
do for you," he said, bendin