"It's not fair to the bank." "Well, I never mean to," she replied, as if no one could ask more than that.
Presently she left him to go and dress for dinner.

He felt extraordinarily at home, left alone like this among her belongings.

He wandered about looking at the photographs--photographs of Pete as a child, a photograph of an old white house with wisteria-vines on it; a picture of her looking very much as she did now, with Pete as a little boy, in a sailor suit, leaning against her; and then a little photograph of her as a girl not much older than Mathilde, he thought--a girl who looked a little frightened and awkward, as girls so often looked, and yet to whom the French photographer--for it was taken in the Place de la Madeleine--had somehow contrived to give a Parisian air.

He had never thought of her in Paris.

He took the picture up; it was dated May, 1884.
He thought back carefully.