"How long must I wait?" he said, smiling, as he drew a chair beside her.

"That depends. Are you difficult to know?" She looked up at him
audaciously, and he on his side could not take his eyes from her, so
singular was the small, sparkling face. The hair and skin were very
fair, like her mother's, the eyes dark and full of fire, the neck most
daintily white and slender, the figure undeveloped, the feet and hands
extremely small. But what arrested him was, so to speak, the embodied
contradiction of the personality--as between the wild intelligence of
the eyes and the extreme youth, almost childishness, of the rest.

He asked her if she had ever known any one confess to being easy, to
know.

"Well, I'm easy to know," she said, carelessly, leaning back; "but,
then, I'm not worth knowing."

"Is one allowed to find out?"

"Oh yes--of course! Do you know--when you were over there, I _willed_
that you should come and talk to me, and you came. Only," she sat up
with animation, and began to tick off her sentences on her
fingers--"Don't ask me how long I've been in town. Don't ask where I was
in Paris. Don't inquire whether I like balls! You see, I warn you at
once"--she looked up frankly--"that we mayn't lose time."

"Well, then, I don't see how I'm ever to find out," said Ashe, stoutly.

"Whether I'm worth knowing?" She considered, then bent forward eagerly.
"Look here! I'll just tell you everything in a lump, and then that'll