took possession of me; but at the time I said nothing. Montaut returned to Rome the next day, and a few days later I followed him—my villeggiatura was over. Our afternoon at Monte Cavo had had no consequences that I perceived. When I saw Montaut again in Rome one of the first things he said to me was:
"Well, has Wilmerding proposed?"
"Not that I know of."
"Didn't you tell him he ought?"
"My dear fellow, he'd knock me down."
"Never in the world. He'd thank you for the hint—he's so candid." I burst out laughing at this, and he asked if our friend had come back. When I said I had left him at Frascati he exclaimed: "Why, he's compromising her more!"
I didn't quite understand, and I remember asking: "Do you think he really ought to offer her marriage, as a gentleman?"
"Beyond all doubt, in any civilised society."
"What a queer thing, then, is civilisation! Because I'm sure he has done her no harm."
"How can you be sure? However, call it good if you like. It's a benefit one is supposed to pay for the privilege of conferring."
"He won't see it."
"He will if you open his eyes."
"That's not my business. And there's no one to make him see it," I replied.
"Couldn't the Honourable Blanche make him? It seems to me I would trust her."
"Trust her then and be quiet."
"You're afraid of his knocking you down," Montaut said.
I suppose I replied to this remark with another equally