Four Meetings | Page 2

a moment with her pretty eyes. I had
asked her at the outset whether she had been to Europe; to this she
answered, "No, no, no," in a little quick, confidential whisper. But after
that, though she never took her eyes off the pictures, she said so little
that I was afraid she was bored. Accordingly, after we had finished one
portfolio, I offered, if she desired it, to desist. I felt that she was not
bored, but her reticence puzzled me, and I wished to make her speak. I
turned round to look at her, and saw that there was a faint flush in each
of her cheeks. She was waving her little fan to and fro. Instead of
looking at me she fixed her eyes upon the other portfolio, which was

leaning against the table.
"Won't you show me that?" she asked, with a little tremor in her voice.
I could almost have believed she was agitated.
"With pleasure," I answered, "if you are not tired."
"No, I am not tired," she affirmed. "I like it--I love it."
And as I took up the other portfolio she laid her hand upon it, rubbing it
softly.
"And have you been here too?" she asked.
On my opening the portfolio it appeared that I had been there. One of
the first photographs was a large view of the Castle of Chillon, on the
Lake of Geneva.
"Here," I said, "I have been many a time. Is it not beautiful?" And I
pointed to the perfect reflection of the rugged rocks and pointed towers
in the clear still water. She did not say, "Oh, enchanting!" and push it
away to see the next picture. She looked awhile, and then she asked if it
was not where Bonnivard, about whom Byron wrote, was confined. I
assented, and tried to quote some of Byron's verses, but in this attempt I
succeeded imperfectly.
She fanned herself a moment, and then repeated the lines correctly, in a
soft, flat, and yet agreeable voice. By the time she had finished she was
blushing. I complimented her and told her she was perfectly equipped
for visiting Switzerland and Italy. She looked at me askance again, to
see whether I was serious, and I added, that if she wished to recognize
Byron's descriptions she must go abroad speedily; Europe was getting
sadly dis-Byronized.
"How soon must I go?" she asked.
"Oh, I will give you ten years."
"I think I can go within ten years," she answered very soberly.

"Well," I said, "you will enjoy it immensely; you will find it very
charming." And just then I came upon a photograph of some nook in a
foreign city which I had been very fond of, and which recalled tender
memories. I discoursed (as I suppose) with a certain eloquence; my
companion sat listening, breathless.
"Have you been very long in foreign lands?" she asked, some time after
I had ceased.
"Many years," I said.
"And have you travelled everywhere?"
"I have travelled a great deal. I am very fond of it; and, happily, I have
been able."
Again she gave me her sidelong gaze. "And do you know the foreign
languages?"
"After a fashion."
"Is it hard to speak them?"
"I don't believe you would find it hard," I gallantly responded.
"Oh, I shouldn't want to speak; I should only want to listen," she said.
Then, after a pause, she added, "They say the French theatre is so
beautiful."
"It is the best in the world."
"Did you go there very often?"
"When I was first in Paris I went every night."
"Every night!" And she opened her clear eyes very wide. "That to me
is:--" and she hesitated a moment--"is very wonderful." A few minutes
later she asked, "Which country do you prefer?"

"There is one country I prefer to all others. I think you would do the
same."
She looked at me a moment, and then she said softly, "Italy?"
"Italy," I answered softly, too; and for a moment we looked at each
other. She looked as pretty as if, instead of showing her photographs, I
had been making love to her. To increase the analogy, she glanced
away, blushing. There was a silence, which she broke at last by
saying,--
"That is the place which, in particular, I thought of going to."
"Oh, that's the place, that's the place!" I said.
She looked at two or three photographs in silence. "They say it is not so
dear."
"As some other countries? Yes, that is not the least of its charms."
"But it is all very dear, is it not?"
"Europe, you mean?"
"Going there and travelling. That has been the trouble. I have very little
money. I give lessons," said Miss Spencer.
"Of course one must have money,"