"Possibly you are right about the capacity. One likes to think one
has brains, you know, whether she uses them or not. I don't think
very much, however,--that is, as you use the word, for it implies
the putting of one's mind on something and keeping it there. I like
to let thoughts come and go as the clouds do in our June skies. I
don't mean thunder-clouds and all they signify, but light vapors
that have scarcely beginning or end, and no very definite being.
I don't seem to have time or inclination for anything else, except
when I meet you with your positive ways. I think it is very kind
of you to come from New York to give me a pleasant evening."

"I'm not so very disinterested. New York has become a dull place,
and if I aid you to pass a pleasant evening you insure a pleasanter
one for me. What have you been doing this long June day, that you
have been too busy for thought?"

"Let me see. What have I been doing? What an uncomfortable question
to ask a girl! You men say we are nothing but butterflies, you
know."

"I never said that of you."

"You ask a question which makes me say it virtually of myself. That
is a way you keen lawyers have. Very well; I shall be an honest
witness, even against myself. That I wasn't up with the lark this
morning goes without saying. The larks that I know much about are
on the wing after dinner in the evening. The forenoon is a variable
sort of affair with many people. Literally I suppose it ends at 12
M., but with me it is rounded off by lunch, and the time of that