“No more than mine,” she replied demurely, “but possibly more than yours.” This was followed by a silvery little laugh. “I fear I am not very entertaining,” said Vance. [96] “On the contrary, Mr. Gilder,” replied Bertha, “I think you are a very charming companion. Are you from Virginia?” she asked. “No; my people were from Virginia. I was born and reared in New York City.” 0104 “The Bonifields are Virginians. They seem to think,” continued Bertha, “that all good people come from Virginia or Baltimore. I sometimes wish I had been born in Virginia.” [97] “I never noticed that peculiarity,” replied Vance, “in either Colonel Bonifield or his daughter.” “Oh, I don’t mean, Mr. Gilder, they are affected. Don’t you think I am horrid to go on talking this way to you? But really, is not Louise one of the sweetest little darlings in the world?” Vance was bored, but turning toward Bertha Allen and smiling at her pretty up-turned face, replied: “You ask me so many questions, Miss Allen, that I do not know which to answer first.” She looked archly at Vance, and said: “Do not answer either of them, for I know I would be dissatisfied with your reply. Is not that a beautiful botanical specimen? Really, Mr. Gilder,” she continued, “I sometimes do not know what I am saying. I know you will think me awfully stupid.” The well modulated and lisping voice of Bertha Allen possessed a charm of its own, and Vance found himself interested in studying the difference between the sweet, simple, unaffected Louise, and the affected, calculating Miss Allen. “Don’t you think, Mr. Gilder, that Louise has great individuality?” “I believe her to be a most exemplary young lady,” replied Vance, “and possessed of a good mind.” “Oh, you think that, do you?” said Bertha, lisping and laughing like the silvery tones of a flute. “You are not the only one, Mr. Gilder, that thinks that way. I mean Cousin Arthur. Oh, he’s awfully smitten.” “Indeed!” replied Vance. “What a beautiful picture,” said Bertha presently. “The waters mirror the trees and the mountains so [98] distinctly. Let us look over the bank at our own reflections.” “Permit me to hold your hand,” said Vance, “and I will prevent your falling. There—can you see yourself?” “Oh, just splendidly!” lisped Bertha, “it is clear as a French plate mirror. Shall I support you, Mr. Gilder, while you look?” “No, thank you,” replied Vance, “I am not fond of looking at homeliness. I would rather look at you.” “Oh, Mr. Gilder, you men are such flatterers! I thought better things of you.” “And why of me?” asked Vance, teasingly. “Louise has spoken of you so many’ times,” she replied, “and in such flattering terms, that I was very anxious to meet you. Indeed, I had quite made up my mind that you were different from other men. Let us turn down this way, Mr. Gilder. Let me see—what was I saying? I thought you must be different; but I guess men are all about alike.”