Blanche Evers was sitting at the window with a book, but she relinquished the volume with an alacrity that showed it had not been absorbing, and began to chatter with her customary frankness. “Well, I must say I am glad to see some one!” cried the young girl, passing before the mirror and giving a touch to her charming tresses. “Even if it ‘s only me,” Bernard exclaimed, laughing. “I did n’t mean that. I am sure I am very glad to see you--I should think you would have found out that by this time. I mean I ‘m glad to see any one--especially a man. I suppose it ‘s improper for me to say that--especially to you! There--you see I do think more of you than of some gentlemen. Why especially to you? Well, because you always seem to me to want to take advantage. I did n’t say a base advantage; I did n’t accuse you of anything dreadful. I ‘m sure I want to take advantage, too--I take it whenever I can. You see I take advantage of your being here--I ‘ve got so many things to say. I have n’t spoken a word in three days, and I ‘m sure it is a pleasant change--a gentleman’s visit. All of a sudden we have gone into mourning; I ‘m sure I don’t know who ‘s dead. Is it Mr. Gordon Wright? It ‘s some idea of Mrs. Vivian’s--I ‘m sure it is n’t mine. She thinks we have been often enough to the Kursaal. I don’t know whether she thinks it ‘s wicked, or what. If it ‘s wicked the harm ‘s already done; I can’t be any worse than I am now. I have seen all the improper people and I have learnt all their names; Captain Lovelock has told me their names, plenty of times. I don’t see what good it does me to be shut up here with all those names running in my ears. I must say I do prefer society. We have n’t been to the Kursaal for four days--we have only gone out for a drive. We have taken the most interminable drives. I do believe we have seen every old ruin in the whole country. Mrs. Vivian and Angela are so awfully fond of scenery--they talk about it by the half-hour. They talk about the mountains and trees as if they were people they knew--as if they were gentlemen! I mean as if the mountains and trees were gentlemen. Of course scenery ‘s lovely, but you can’t walk about with a tree. At any rate, that has been all our society--foliage! Foliage and women; but I suppose women are a sort of foliage. They are always rustling about and dropping off. That ‘s why I could n’t make up my mind to go out with them this afternoon. They ‘ve gone to see the Waterworths--the Waterworths arrived yesterday and are staying at some hotel. Five daughters--all unmarried! I don’t know what kind of foliage they are; some peculiar kind--they don’t drop off. I thought I had had about enough ladies’ society--three women all sticking together! I don’t think it ‘s good for a young girl to have nothing but ladies’ society--it ‘s so awfully limited. I suppose I ought to stand up for my own sex and tell you that when we are alone together we want for nothing. But we