he saw that this glance was perfectly direct and unshrinking.
It was not, however, what would have been called an immodest glance,
for the young girl's eyes were singularly honest and fresh.
They were wonderfully pretty eyes; and, indeed, Winterbourne had not
seen for a long time anything prettier than his fair countrywoman's
various features--her complexion, her nose, her ears, her teeth.
He had a great relish for feminine beauty; he was addicted to
observing and analyzing it; and as regards this young lady's face
he made several observations. It was not at all insipid, but it
was not exactly expressive; and though it was eminently delicate,
Winterbourne mentally accused it--very forgivingly--of a want of finish.
He thought it very possible that Master Randolph's sister was a coquette;
he was sure she had a spirit of her own; but in her bright,
sweet, superficial little visage there was no mockery, no irony.
Before long it became obvious that she was much disposed
toward conversation. She told him that they were going to Rome
for the winter--she and her mother and Randolph. She asked him
if he was a "real American"; she shouldn't have taken him for one;
he seemed more like a German--this was said after a little hesitation--
especially when he spoke. Winterbourne, laughing, answered that
he had met Germans who spoke like Americans, but that he had not,
so far as he remembered, met an American who spoke like a German.
Then he asked her if she should not be more comfortable in sitting
upon the bench which he had just quitted. She answered that she
liked standing up and walking about; but she presently sat down.
She told him she was from New York State--"if you know where that is."
Winterbourne learned more about her by catching hold of her small,
slippery brother and making him stand a few minutes by his side.

"Tell me your name, my boy," he said.