"But that will make a muddle of the route I have mapped out, and jumble up the dates." "What does that matter? You can easily make out another; our time is our own. I want to be in Geneva to-morrow night." "For any particular reason?" I asked, rather annoyed, for I knew how difficult it was to divert her from anything upon which she had set her mind. "For a very particular reason. Maxwell will be there." "Did he tell you so before we left England?" "No; he tells me in a letter, and says how nice it will be for us to meet there." I thought otherwise. I had no wish to see Maxwell, but I did not say so. "When did you hear from him?" "This morning." "His letter did not come to the hotel. They told me in the office that there were none for us." "He doesn't address me at the hotel." "Where then, for goodness sake? The hotel is the proper place." "Perhaps I don't care about always doing what is proper," she retorted, lightly. "Besides, do I need your permission to carry on a correspondence with my brother?" "Not at all; you are putting a wrong construction upon my words." "Oh, of course. I don't do anything right, do I? Never mind, you may make yourself as unpleasant as you like, but you won't get me to join in a wrangle. Do I pry into your letters? Well, then, don't pry into mine." "I have no desire to do so. Only, as I suppose this is not the first letter you have received from Maxwell since we have been in Paris----" She interrupted me with "I have had three letters from him." "Well, I thought you might have mentioned it--that's all." "I didn't wish to annoy you." "Why should it annoy me?" "Now, John," she said, in a more conciliatory tone, "haven't I eyes in my head? Women, really, are not quite brainless. Do you think I didn't find out long ago that there was no love lost between you and Maxwell? Not on his side--oh, no; on yours." I could have answered that, according to my observation of her, her feelings towards Maxwell were similar to mine, but I was determined to avoid, as far as was possible, anything in the shape of argument that might lead to contention. "I do hope you will get to like him better," she continued, "and you will when you understand him. That is what we were talking about a few days ago, isn't it?--about the advisability of people understanding each other before they pronounce judgment. If they don't they are so apt to do each other an injustice. Maxwell is as simple as a child; the worst of it is, he takes a delight in placing himself at a disadvantage when he is talking to you, saying the wrong thing, you know, but never meaning the least harm by it--oh, no. He leaves you to find it out--so boyish, isn't it? He is inconsistent; it is a serious fault, but it is a serious misfortune, too, when one can't help it. It is a shame to blame us for our imperfections; we didn't make them; they are born with us."