possible—I hope in a few weeks, though how I shall manage without any Italian, heaven may know—I don't! Do you speak it?"
"A little."
"Well, I wish I could have you with me. You 'd make a splendid companion for an old woman like me: young, good to look at, energetic (or you would n't be travelling about alone), brave (conquered your fear of Beau), accomplished (three languages, and goodness knows what besides!), presence of mind (the way you whisked my clothes off), handy (I never tasted better tea)—altogether you sum up ideally. What a pity you 're rich, and out of the market!"
"If I look rich my appearance must be more distinguished than I supposed—and it 's also very deceiving," said I.
"You 're rich enough to travel for pleasure in wagon-lits, and have silver-fitted bags."
"I'm not travelling for pleasure. You exaggerate my bags and my wagon-lits, for I 've only one of each; and both were given me by a friend who was at the Convent with me."
"The Convent! Good heavens! are you an escaping nun?"
I laughed. "I went to school at a Convent. That was when I thought I was going to be rich—at least, rich enough to be like other girls. And if I am 'escaping' from something, it is n't from the arms of religion."
"If you 're not rich, and are n't going to relatives, why not take an engagement with me? Come, I 'm in earnest. I always make up my mind suddenly, if it 's anything
