“I should enjoy hearing about these imaginary jaunts, Ma—Miss Crawford. Where should you visit first?” In another moment, she had nimbly taken his arm with both her hands, and in a playfully confidential tone continued, “Then indeed you shall. You must imagine, Colonel, that we have escaped the ‘shores of this Greene and Pleasant Land,’ and are embarking on a pleasure tour of a full six months’ duration. We will start, of course, with sailing from Dover to Calais, which would be quickly accomplished, as the conditions must be altogether favourable. Of course, I would not suffer the sea-sickness, for, as you know, I never tolerate even the smallest inconvenience to myself. The route from Calais to Paris, I would shorten entirely, for who wants to tarry in a land of dull rustics when there are to be experienced all the wonders and diversions of Paris? We shall arrive in the city and immediately secure the best rooms at the L’Hôtel Londres, where we will dine in beautiful salons on all variety of the best delicacies in France. Then, I should visit the most exclusive dressmakers, and immediately buy twenty gowns, each more beautiful than the last, and have my hair dressed in the latest French stile. We would promenade along Le Grand Boulevard, and laugh at all those not so fine as ourselves. And of course, I should buy a tiny French poodle-dog the colour of champaigne (I will call her ‘Nonette’), and she would go everywhere with us in her diamond lead.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was—in spite of all reason and resolution to the contrary—finding himself once more captivated by her lively manner, and he encouraged her to continue. “And when we had tired of parading up and down Le Grand Boulevard, what should we see next?”

“Why, the opera, of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam. But—of course as savants—we would shun the Grand Opera and all its pretended superiority for the Opéra Comique. We would watch from a private box, and I should be greatly amused by the singing and dancing, but you would be quite bored and keep looking at your watch.” The Colonel was dreadfully torn betwixt distrust and delight, but was irresistibly giving himself over to the latter, despite all his resolutions concerning her dark eyes, her uncommonly lovely face, and her enchanting figure.

“What!” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Why should I be bored, Miss Crawford?” In this present state of mind, the Colonel was already but poorly equipped to imagine any cloud to the pleasures she was describing.

“Because, my dear Colonel, you have taken me to see Molière’s Les Femmes Savantes, and as you do not believe in any such thing, you find the entire subject insupportable, and would not wish to credit the subject by appearing to enjoy the play, of course!”