He greets her with a strong pressure of the hand, and his first glance reveals her power.

“Why, this is an agreeable surprise, Mr. Lane,” she exclaims.

“Agreeable?  I am very glad to hear that,” he says, in his customary direct speech.  “Yes, I ran up from the city this afternoon.  On my way to lunch I became aware of the beauty of the day, and as my thoughts persisted in going up the river I was led to follow them.  One’s life does not consist wholly of business, you know; at least mine does not.”

“Yet you have the reputation of being a busy man.”

“I should hope so.  What would you think of a young fellow not busy in these times?”

“I am not sure I should think at all.  You give us girls too much credit for thinking.”

“Oh, no; there’s no occasion for the plural.  I don’t give ‘us girls’ anything.  I am much too busy for that.  But I know you think, Miss Marian, and have capacity for thought.”

“Possibly you are right about the capacity.  One likes to think one has brains, you know, whether she uses them or not.  I don’t think very much, however,—­that is, as you use the word, for it implies the putting of one’s mind on something and keeping it there.  I like to let thoughts come and go as the clouds do in our June skies.  I don’t mean thunder-clouds and all they signify, but light vapors that have scarcely beginning or end, and no very definite being.  I don’t seem to have time or inclination for anything else, except when I meet you with your positive ways.  I think it is very kind of you to come from New York to give me a pleasant evening.”

“I’m not so very disinterested.  New York has become a dull place, and if I aid you to pass a pleasant evening you insure a pleasanter one for me.  What have you been doing this long June day, that you have been too busy for thought?”

“Let me see.  What have I been doing?  What an uncomfortable question to ask a girl!  You men say we are nothing but butterflies, you know.”

“I never said that of you.”

“You ask a question which makes me say it virtually of myself.  That is a way you keen lawyers have.  Very well; I shall be an honest witness, even against myself.  That I wasn’t up with the lark this morning goes without saying.  The larks that I know much about are on the wing after dinner in the evening.  The forenoon is a variable sort of affair with many people.  Literally I suppose it ends at 12 M., but with me it is rounded off by lunch, and the time of that event depends largely upon the kitchen divinity that we can lure to this remote and desolate region.  ‘Faix,’ remarked that potentate, sniffing around disdainfully the day we arrived, ’does yez expects the loikes o’ me to stop in this lonesomeness?  We’re jist at the ind of the wourld.’  Mamma increased her wages, which were already double what she earns, and she still condescends to provide our daily food, giving me a forenoon which closes at her convenience.  During this indefinite period I look after my flowers and birds, sing and play a little, read a little, entertain a little, and thus reveal to you a general littleness.  In the afternoon I take a nap, so that I may be wide awake enough to talk to a bright man like you in case he should appear.  Now, are you not shocked and pained at my frivolous life?”