"Now run and dress," advised La Signorina. "Let me dream a little more, while the sun sets. I can dream a pleasant dream sometimes." And indeed the dream was not unpleasant, for her thoughts went back to that night in New York. Did he really think of her, then? Was it possible for a man to forget so bizarre an episode? Rather would it not leave a lasting impression? She liked him. He had a clean, kindly face and handsome eyes. How she had played with him! How she had tempted him! And yet, through it all, a gentleman, a witty, interesting, amiable gentleman, who never approached the innuendo, or uttered a double-meaning. On her part she had taken great risks; but the fun had been merry and harmless. She recalled his liberal-minded patriotism and his sensible comparisons. Surely he was right: the race of gentlemen had not yet died out in far America. With what mystery had he invested her? With what charms had he endued her? She smiled gently. It was pleasant to be made a heroine even for the small space of two hours. He was an idle young man, after a fashion; that was because he had not been waked up. But under his jest and under his laughter she was sure that there was courage and purpose and high emprise. Take care! she thought. Take care! Might not this little dream carry her too far out to sea?... To have met a man like this one in time! How gracefully, how boyishly, he had kissed her hand! More than this, there had been an artless admiration in his upturned eyes, an expression which a gentleman of the Old World would have lacked. Why had she sent him that mask? Had it been a challenge, an indirect challenge, daring him to follow and seek her? She really could not answer. It had been one of those half-conscious whims which may be assigned to no positive cause. Besides, no sensible man would have accepted such a challenge. She knew men tolerably well: after thirty they cease to follow visions; they seek tangible things. . . . No, they must never meet again. It would not be wise. Her heart, lonely, disappointed, galled as it were by disillusion, might not withstand much storming. And she had no wish to add this irretrievable folly to the original blunder. Too late, too late! Decidedly they must not meet again. She was afraid.