Headway, was inevitably speech, though speech was not always thought, and now she had suddenly become vehement. “If she does once come—then, ah then, I shall be too perfect with her; I shan’t let her go! But she must take the first step. I confess I hope she’ll be nice.” “Perhaps she won’t,” said Waterville perversely. “Well, I don’t care if she ain’t. He has never told me anything about her; never a word about any of his own belongings. If I wished I might believe he’s ashamed of them.” “I don’t think it’s that.” “I know it ain’t. I know what it is. It’s just regular European refinement. He doesn’t want to show off; he’s too much of a gentleman. He doesn’t want to dazzle me—he wants me to like him for himself. Well, I do like him,” she added in a moment. “But I shall like him still better if he brings his mother. They shall know that in America.” “Do you think it will make an impression in America?” Waterville amusedly asked. “It will show I’m visited by the British aristocracy. They won’t love that.” “Surely they grudge you no innocent pleasure,” the young man laughed. “They grudged me common politeness—when I was in New York! Did you ever hear how they treated me when I came on from my own section?” Waterville stared; this episode was quite new to him. His companion had turned toward him; her pretty head was tossed back like a flower in the wind; there was a flush in her cheek, a more questionable charm in her eye. “Ah, my dear New Yorkers, they’re incapable of rudeness!” he cried. “You’re one of them, I see. But I don’t speak of the men. The men were well enough—though they did allow it.” “Allow what, Mrs. Headway?” He was quite thrillingly in the dark. She wouldn’t answer at once; her eyes, glittering a little, were fixed on memories still too vivid. “What did you hear about me over there? Don’t pretend you heard nothing.” He had heard nothing at all; there had not been a word about Mrs. Headway in New York. He couldn’t pretend and he was obliged to tell her this. “But I’ve been away,” he added, “and in America I didn’t go out. There’s nothing to go out for in New York—only insipid boys and girls.”