“That is far from proving your wisdom,” said Zoe; “and, instead of dwelling on my perfections, which do not exist, I wish you would _tell_ me things.” “What things?” “How can I tell till I hear them? Well, then, things about yourself.” “That is a poor subject.” “Let me be the judge.” “Oh, there are lots of fellows who are always talking about themselves: let me be an exception.” This answer puzzled Zoe, and she was silent, and put on a cold look. She was not accustomed to be refused anything reasonable. Severne examined her closely, and saw he was expected to obey her. He then resolved to prepare, in a day or two, an autobiography full of details that should satisfy Zoe's curiosity, and win her admiration and her love. But he could not do it all in a moment, because his memory of his real life obstructed his fancy. Meantime he operated a diversion. He said, “Set a poor fellow an example. Tell me something about _yourself--_since I have the bad taste, and the presumption, to be interested in you, and can't help it. Did you spring from the foam of the Archipelago? or are you descended from Bacchus and Ariadne?” “If you want sensible answers, ask sensible questions,” said Zoe, trying to frown him down with her black brows; but her sweet cheek would tint itself, and her sweet mouth smile and expose much intercoral ivory. “Well, then,” said he, “I will ask you a prosaic question, and I only hope you won't think it impertinent. How--ever--did such a strangely assorted party as yours come to travel together? And if Vizard has turned woman-hater, as he pretends, how comes he to be at the head of a female party who are not _all_ of them--” he hesitated. “Go on, Mr. Severne; not all of them what?” said Zoe, prepared to stand up for her sex. “Not perfect?” “That is a very cautious statement, and--there--you are as slippery as an eel; there is no getting hold of you. Well, never mind, I will set you an example of communicativeness, and reveal this mystery hidden as yet from mankind.” “Speak, dread queen; thy servant heareth.” “Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Severne, you amuse _me.”_ “You only interest _me,”_ was the soft reply. Zoe blushed pink, but turned it off. “Then why do you not attend to my interesting narrative, instead of--Well, then, it began with my asking the dear fellow to take me a tour, especially to Rome.” “You wanted to see the statues of your ancestors, and shame them.” “Much obliged; I was not quite such a goose. I wanted to see the Tiber, and the Colosseum, and Trajan's Pillar, and the Tarpeian Rock, and the one everlasting city that binds ancient and modern history together.” She flashed her great eyes on him, and he was dumb. She had risen above the region of his ideas. Having silenced her commentator, she returned to her story, “Well, dear Harrington said 'yes' directly. So then I told Fanny, and she said, 'Oh, do take me with you?' Now, of course I was only too glad to have Fanny; she is my relation, and my friend.”