Cleve's in his pocket, and ten days later made his bow to mother and
daughter in New York. His stay was brief, and he was apparently unable
to bring himself to view what Euphemia's uncle, Mr. Butterworth, who
gave her away at the altar, called our great experiment of democratic
self-government, in a serious light. He smiled at everything and seemed
to regard the New World as a colossal plaisanterie. It is true that a
perpetual smile was the most natural expression of countenance for a man
about to marry Euphemia Cleve.



III

Longmore's first visit seemed to open to him so large a range of quiet
pleasure that he very soon paid a second, and at the end of a fortnight
had spent uncounted hours in the little drawing-room which Madame de
Mauves rarely quitted except to drive or walk in the forest. She lived
in an old-fashioned pavilion, between a high-walled court and an
excessively artificial garden, beyond whose enclosure you saw a long
line of tree-tops. Longmore liked the garden and in the mild afternoons
used to move his chair through the open window to the smooth terrace
which overlooked it while his hostess sat just within. Presently she
would come out and wander through the narrow alleys and beside the thin-
spouting fountain, and at last introduce him to a private gate in the
high wall, the opening to a lane which led to the forest. Hitherwards
she more than once strolled with him, bareheaded and meaning to go but
twenty rods, but always going good-naturedly further and often
stretching it to the freedom of a promenade. They found many things to
talk about, and to the pleasure of feeling the hours slip along like
some silver stream Longmore was able to add the satisfaction of