He had taken a seat at my worktable; he now laid hands on a reel of thread which he proceeded recklessly to unwind.

“Ginevra⁠—Miss Fanshawe, has accompanied the Cholmondeleys on a tour through the south of France?”

“She has.”

“Do you and she correspond?”

“It will astonish you to hear that I never once thought of making application for that privilege.”

“You have seen letters of her writing?”

“Yes; several to her uncle.”

“They will not be deficient in wit and naivete; there is so much sparkle, and so little art in her soul?”