“I’ve squeezed it dry, all right, and I’ll take back a lot more than I figured on. Watch me when I’m swelling round Butte, imitating the chaste simplicity of a British duchess--minus the duds they generally sport. There’s nothing like Europe to teach you what’s what--especially the way we’ve seen it--put you wise in ten thousand different ways, and fill your mind with pretty pictures--that ain’t in galleries. But after all it’s just a course in the higher education, and you’re outside of it all, every minute. To live you’ve got to go back to your own country.” “That’s true enough!” “Could you marry a European and live over here for the rest of your life and never see those mountains again that just seem to belong to you--or even screaming old Butte?” “No!” Ora spoke with uncommon vehemence. “I couldn’t!” Ida raised herself on her elbow and looked at her friend shrewdly. “I can’t see that you’ve enjoyed yourself so much over here. It seems to me that you’ve got your fun out of showing me round. You had more real gaiety in you in Butte. You may not know it but you look pretty sad sometimes.” “Life is sad--mighty sad.” “Is it? That’s a new one for me. I think it a pretty fine old proposition. What went wrong with you--early in the game?” “Nothing. Travel is tiring, I’m not as strong as you are.” “You’re as tough as a pine knot, for all you look like a lily expecting to be decapitated by the first wind. Well, you won’t tell if you won’t, but I’ll tell you what you need. You’ve never been in love and that’s a sort of ache in women until they’ve taken a good dose of the only medicine. I rather hoped you’d met your fate in the Marchese Valdobia. He’s the sort you once told me was your type, and you seemed to like him pretty well for about five weeks in Rome. The lord knows he was tall enough, and dark enough, and thin enough, and looked as if he had a beastly temper besides. Then you turned him down good and hard. I was sorry----” “My dear Ida! Are you regretting that I did not have a liaison with Valdobia? I remember your virtuous sentiments in Butte. Perhaps it is time for us to return!” “Oh, I’m all right. But I’m that advanced I wouldn’t mind you having an affair the least bit if it would make you happy----” “Happy! What happiness do you imagine there can be when you are absolutely at the mercy of a man?--when you never know whether you will see him again or not?--a woman has no real hold on a lover. Matrimony with the man you love may have its agonies, but at least you live with him, you make his home; his interests are yours, he is dependent upon you for comfort and sympathy; there are a thousand ways in which you can endear and enchain him. But a lover, whom you meet in secret for one purpose only, who can give you no real companionship--oh, no! I shall not court that particular form of suffering. Life is hard enough without that! I’ve known women with lovers and so have you.”