answered from her eight generations of New England ancestry. "Oh, for the
West, yes, perhaps," and they neither of them said anything more about
Stoller.

In their room, where she found March waiting for her amidst their
arriving baggage, she was so full of her pent-up opinions of Burnamy's
patron that she, would scarcely speak of the view from their windows of
the wooded hills up and down the Tepl. "Yes, yes; very nice, and I know I
shall enjoy it ever so much. But I don't know what you will think of that
poor young Burnamy!"

"Why, what's happened to him?"

"Happened? Stoller's happened."

"Oh, have you seen him, already? Well?"

"Well, if you had been going to pick out that type of man, you'd have
rejected him, because you'd have said he was too pat. He's like an actor
made up for a Western millionaire. Do you remember that American in
'L'Etranger' which Bernhardt did in Boston when she first came? He, looks
exactly like that, and he has the worst manners. He stood talking to me
with his hat on, and a toothpick in his mouth; and he made me feel as if
he had bought me, along with Burnamy, and had paid too much. If you don't
give him a setting down, Basil, I shall never speak to you; that's all.
I'm sure Burnamy is in some trouble with him; he's got some sort of hold
upon him; what it could be in such a short time, I can't imagine; but if
ever a man seemed to be, in a man's power, he does, in his!

"Now," said March, "your pronouns have got so far beyond me that I think