“I have no such opinion, indeed!” protested Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Miss Crawford, you are just such an example that would convert even the most confirmed skeptic.”

“For shame, Colonel!” cried Mary, “This is too much of flattery! You make me forget my itinerary—now, where were we?”

Miss Crawford’s descriptions continued in so detailed and beguiling a fashion that Colonel Fitzwilliam could not help but imagine himself with her. She had such a talent for description—each imagined detour was full of intrigue and pleasure. In their walk, he travelled with her to Reims to taste the Champaigne, “for Champaigne is the only thing I could consent to drink in France”; and to Lyon, where they purchased the finest silks; to Poitou-Charentes to taste the finest cheeses; and to Marseilles, where they dined on bouillabaisse and dark red wine. Her knowledge of geography was excellent, and her enjoyment in her flights-of-fancy infectious.

At some point near Boulogne-sur-mer, Colonel Fitzwilliam tentatively suggested that her tastes were too expensive for his own fortune to supply, with the immediately result that Miss Crawford adjusted her ideas so as to reassure her captive: “The greatest pleasure for me is in the sense of sight, Colonel. In truth, I should like just a few pretty things, and then I should be content to spend only with the eye.” The path was thus smoothed for the Colonel to consider that, with their combined fortunes, the fantasy was not wholly out of his reach. A few sentences further along in their journey, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Rouen, he was quite convinced that the plan was perfection itself, and only wanted a little time to encourage its probability and, thence, its fruition. Arm-in-arm, they strolled along the avenue until—upon having reached Orvieto—they found they had wandered so long that they were beyond their own knowledge, and were consequently astonished to realise the day was already grown quite dark.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mary, “My brother will be quite shocked at my having been gone such a time! You must come in with me and take all of the burthen of blame for my prolonged absence, as he will never credit such an explanation from myself.”

“With pleasure, Mar—I mean Miss Crawford. It is many months since I have had the pleasure of seeing your brother.”