"It sounds rather mad," answered Clare, laughing a little. "I hope you won't do anything of the kind, because I wouldn't see you more than once or twice. I'd have headaches and colds and concerts--all the things one has when one isn't at home to people. But my mother would be delighted. She likes you tremendously, you know, and you could go about to galleries together and read Ruskin and Browning--do you know the Statue and the Bust? And you could go and see Casa Guidi, where the Brownings lived, and you could drive up to San Miniato, and then, you know, you could drive up again and read more Browning and more Ruskin. I'm sure you would enjoy it to any extent. But I should have to go through a terrific siege of colds and headaches. It would be rather hard on me." "And harder on me," observed Brook, "and quite fearful for Mrs. Bowring." "Oh no! She would enjoy every minute of it. You forget that she likes you." "You are afraid I should forget that you don't." "I almost--oh, a long way from quite! I almost liked you yesterday when you thrashed the carter and tied him up so neatly. It was beautifully done--all those knots! I suppose you learned them on board of the yacht, didn't you?" "I've yachted a good deal," said Brook. "Generally with that party?" inquired Clare. "No. That was the first time. My father has an old tub he goes about in, and we sometimes go together." "Is he coming here in his 'old tub'?" "Oh no--he's lent her to a fellow who has taken her off to Japan, I believe." "Japan! Is it safe? In an 'old tub'!" "Oh, well--that's a way of talking, you know. She's a good enough boat, you know. My father went to New York in her, last year. She's a steamer, you know. I hate steamers. They are such dirty noisy things! But of course if you are going a long way, they are the only things." He spoke in a jerky way, annoyed and discomfited by her forcing the conversation off the track. Though he was aware that he had gone further than he intended, when he proposed to spend the winter in Florence. Moreover, he was very tenacious by nature, and had rarely been seriously opposed during his short life. Her persistent refusal to tell him the cause of her deep-rooted dislike exasperated him, while her frank and careless manner and good-fellowship fascinated him more and more. "Tell me all about the yacht," she said. "I'm sure she is a beauty, though you call her an old tub." "I don't want to talk about yachts," he answered, returning to the attack in spite of her. "I want to talk about the chances of seeing you after we part here." "There aren't any," replied the young girl carelessly. "What is the name of the yacht?" "Very commonplace--'Lucy,' that's all. I'll make chances if there are none--" "You mustn't say that 'Lucy' is commonplace. That's my mother's name."