Both of them took some time to recover from the intensity of this moment.  She wanted to ask him his, but foreseeing that she would immediately be required to use it, and feeling unequal to such an adventure, she decided it would be wiser to wait.  It was he who presently went on: 

“Isn’t it strange to know so little about each other?  I rather like it.  It’s so mad—­like opening a chest of buried treasure.  You don’t know what’s going to be in it, but you know it’s certain to be rare and desirable.  What do you do, Mathilde?  Live here with your father and mother?”

She sat looking at him.  The truth was that she found everything he said so unexpected and thrilling that now and then she lost all sense of being expected to answer.

“Oh, yes,” she said, suddenly remembering.  “I live here with my mother and stepfather.  My mother has married again.  She is Mrs. Vincent Farron.”

“Didn’t I tell you life played strange tricks?” he exclaimed.  He sprang up, and took a position on the hearth-rug.  “I know all about him.  I once reported on the Electric Equipment Company.  That’s the same Farron, isn’t it?  I believe that that company is the most efficient for its size in this country, in the world, perhaps.  And Farron is your stepfather!  He must be a wonder.”

“Yes, I think he is.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I like him very much.  I don’t love him.”

“The poor devil!”

“I don’t believe he wants people to love him.  It would bore him.  No, that’s not quite just.  He’s kind, wonderfully kind, but he has no little pleasantnesses.  He says things in a very quiet way that make you feel he’s laughing at you, though he never does laugh.  He said to me this morning at breakfast, ‘Well, Mathilde, was it a marvelous party?’ That made me feel as if I used the word ‘marvelous’ all the time, not a bit as if he really wanted to know whether I had enjoyed myself last night.”

“And did you?”

She gave him a rapid smile and went on: 

“Now, my grandfather, my mother’s father—­his name is Lanley—­(Mr. Lanley evidently was not in active business, for it was plain that Wayne, searching his memory, found nothing)—­my grandfather often scolds me terribly for my English,—­says I talk like a barmaid, although I tell him he ought not to know how barmaids talk,—­but he never makes me feel small.  Sometimes Mr. Farron repeats, weeks afterward, something I’ve said, word for word, the way I said it.  It makes it sound so foolish.  I’d rather he said straight out that he thought I was a goose.”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t if he did.”

“I like people to be human.  Mr. Farron’s not human.”

“Doesn’t your mother think so?”

“Mama thinks he’s perfect.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Ages!  Five years!”

“And they’re just as much in love?”

Miss Severance looked at him.