Miriam, for her part, boasted that she could
read him like a book, could place her finger any minute on the chapter
and the line. He, easily taken in, believed that Miriam knew more about
him than anyone else. So it pleased him to talk to her about himself,
like the simplest egoist. Very soon the conversation drifted to his own
doings. It flattered him immensely that he was of such supreme interest.
"And what have you been doing lately?"
"I--oh, not much! I made a sketch of Bestwood from the garden, that is
nearly right at last. It's the hundredth try."
So they went on. Then she said:
"You've not been out, then, lately?"
"Yes; I went up Clifton Grove on Monday afternoon with Clara."
"It was not very nice weather," said Miriam, "was it?"
"But I wanted to go out, and it was all right. The Trent IS full."
"And did you go to Barton?" she asked.
"No; we had tea in Clifton."
"DID you! That would be nice."
"It was! The jolliest old woman! She gave us several pompom dahlias, as
pretty as you like.
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