Teresa had never seen, were already in Switzerland, with the second governess and the Italian servants. None of the children was strong. Teresa sincerely pitied Nina under the weight of this establishment, but she had declined staying at the Swiss chalet as Nina's guest. The hotel would be quite near enough. She wanted to be as much alone as possible, or with the small Ronald. She was longing now, in the midst of sultry Paris, for the mountains, the pines, the snow and rushing streams, and for quiet—above all, quiet. Nina tired her, with her incessant demand for sympathy or at least for a listener; and she thought she would be better able to respond to this demand when she herself was a little stronger.
Crayven, on the contrary, was a restful person; he gave her a foretaste of that natural calm and silence she desired. She asked him to dinner, at this first meeting, and then he took Nina and herself out to dine and, at Teresa's request, to a popular theatre, which reminded her of her slumming expeditions in New York. He came twice afterward to see her, during the week they had still to spend in Paris; quietly attentive to her, always looking cool and strong in the midst of the wilting heat; self-contained, not amusing exactly, but attentive, and an agreeable person to have about. When they said good-bye it was with distinct pleasure that Teresa found he had
