"I've no money."
"No, but you're 'smart.' And then you're charming."
"Ah, you're cruel—you're not so sorry for me as I should like!" I returned.
"I thought that what you wanted was that I should be sorry for Mr. Wilmerding. You must bring him to see me," said Mrs. Rushbrook.
"And do you care so little about me that you could be witness of my marrying another woman? I enjoy the way you speak of it!" I cried.
"Wouldn't it all be for your honour? That's what I care about," she laughed.
"I'll bring Wilmerding to see you to-morrow: he'll make you serious," I declared.
"Do; I shall be delighted to see him. But go to Mrs. Goldie, too—it is your duty."
"Why mine only? Why shouldn't Montaut marry her?"
"You forget that he has no compunction."
"And is that the only thing you can recommend?"
"I'll think it over—I'll tell you to-morrow," Mrs. Rushbrook said. "Meanwhile, I do like your American—he sounds so unusual." I remember her exclaiming further, before we separated: "Your poor Wilmerding—he is a knight! But for a diplomatist—fancy!"
It was agreed between us the next day that she should drive over to Frascati with me; and the vehicle which had transported me to Albano and remained the night at the hotel conveyed us, before noon, in the opposite sense, along the side of the hills and the loveliest road in the world—through the groves and gardens, past the monuments and ruins and the brown old villages with feudal and papal gateways that overhang the historic plain. If I begged Mrs. Rushbrook to accompany me there was