Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. The doorman replied, tipping his cap, “I don’t speak much Italian these days, not since my mother died. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. For the rest, she derived her ideas of the married state from the observed behavior of married women, which impressed her in Morningside Park as being tied and dull and inelastic in comparison with the life of the young, and from a remarkably various reading among books.
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