Chapter 7 - Page 2

"He thinks you can't understand him when he talks like that," said
Miss Ruck. "But I do understand you, always!"

"So I have always ventured to hope, my dear Miss Ruck."

"Well, if I didn't, it wouldn't be much loss," rejoined this young
lady.

"Allons, en marche!" cried M. Pigeonneau, smiling still, and
undiscouraged by her inhumanity. "Let as make together the tour of
the garden." And he imposed his society upon Miss Ruck with a
respectful, elderly grace which was evidently unable to see anything
in her reluctance but modesty, and was sublimely conscious of a
mission to place modesty at its ease. This ill-assorted couple
walked in front, while Aurora Church and I strolled along together.

"I am sure this is more improper," said my companion; "this is
delightfully improper. I don't say that as a compliment to you," she
added. "I would say it to any man, no matter how stupid."

"Oh, I am very stupid," I answered, "but this doesn't seem to me
wrong."

"Not for you, no; only for me. There is nothing that a man can do
that is wrong, is there? En morale, you know, I mean. Ah, yes, he
can steal; but I think there is nothing else, is there?"

"I don't know. One doesn't know those things until after one has
done them. Then one is enlightened."

"And you mean that you have never been enlightened? You make
yourself out very good."

"That is better than making one's self out bad, as you do."

The young girl glanced at me a moment, and then, with her charming
smile, "That's one of the consequences of a false position."

"Is your position false?" I inquired, smiling too at this large
formula.

"Distinctly so."

"In what way?"

"Oh, in every way. For instance, I have to pretend to be a jeune
fille. I am not a jeune fille; no American girl is a jeune fille; an
American girl is an intelligent, responsible creature. I have to
pretend to be very innocent, but I am not very innocent."

"You don't pretend to be very innocent; you pretend to be--what shall
I call it?--very wise."

"That's no pretence. I am wise."

"You are not an American girl," I ventured to observe.

My companion almost stopped, looking at me; there was a little flush
in her cheek. "Voila!" she said. "There's my false position. I
want to be an American girl, and I'm not."

"Do you want me to tell you?" I went on. "An American girl wouldn't
talk as you are talking now."

"Please tell