The Eton boy adored her from that day forth; and so did other people for similar reasons.

I, personally, always rather wondered that Arthur was ever attracted by Miss B——­, for he was very fastidious, and the least suggestion of aiming at effect or vulgarity, or hankering after notoriety, would infallibly have disgusted him.  But this was the reason.

She was never vulgar, never self-conscious.  She acted on each occasion on impulse, never calculating effects, never with reference to other people’s opinions.

A gentleman once said, remonstrating with her for driving alone with a Cambridge undergraduate in his dog-cart down to Richmond after a ball, “People are beginning to talk about you.”

“What fools they must be!” said Miss B——­, and showed not the slightest inclination to hear more of the matter.

There is no question, I think, that Arthur’s grave and humorous ways attracted her.  He, when at his best, was a racy and paradoxical talker—­with that natural tinge of veiled melancholy or cynicism half-suspected which is so fascinating, as seeming to imply a “past,” a history.  He ventured to speak to her more than once about her tendency to “drift.”  He told me of one conversation in particular.

“I think you have too many friends,” he said to her once, at the conclusion of an evening party at her own house.  They were sitting in a balcony looking out on to the square, where the trees were stirring in the light morning wind.

“That’s curious,” she said.  “I never feel as if I had enough; I have room enough in my heart for the whole world.”  And she spread out her hands to the great city with all her lights glaring before them.  “God knows I love you all, though I don’t know you,” she said with a sudden impulse.

They were silent for a moment.

Then she resumed:  “Tell me why you said that,” she said.  “I like to be told the truth.”

“You may feel large enough,” he said, “but they don’t appreciate your capacity; they feel hurt and slighted.  Why, only to-night, during the ten minutes I was talking to you, you spoke and dismissed eight people, every one of whom was jealous of me, and thinking ’Who’s the new man?’ And I began to wonder how I should feel if I came here and found a new man installed by you, and got a handshake and a smile.”

“Shall I tell you?” she said, looking at him.  “I should give you a look which would mean, ’I would give anything to have a quiet talk to you, Mr. Hamilton, but the exigencies of society oblige me to be civil to this person.’”

“Yes,” he said, “and that’s just what I complain of; it gives me, the new man to-night, a feeling of insecurity—­that perhaps you are just ‘carrying on’ with me because it is your whim, and that the instant I bore you, you will throw me away like a broken toy, and with even less regret.”

“How dare you speak like that to me?” she said, turning upon him almost fiercely.  “I never forget people.”  And she rose and went quickly into the room, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the evening.