Now, have I said anything foolish?"
"Not the least. I think you are right. I prefer your proportions. A
short tibia is not pretty."
A look of reverie came into her eyes. "I don't know if I told you that
we are going to Italy next week?"
"Yes, you told me."
Her thoughts jerked off at right angles, and turning her back on the
statue, she began to tell me how she had made Donald's acquaintance.
She and her mother were then living in a boarding-house in the same
square in which Donald's father lived, and they used to walk in the
square, and one day as she was running home trying to escape a shower,
he had come forward with his umbrella. That was in July, a few days
before she went away to Tenby for a month. It was at Tenby she had
become intimate with Toby Wells; he had succeeded for a time in
putting Donald out of her mind. She had met Toby at Nice.
"But you like Donald much better than Toby?"
"Of course I do; he came here to marry me. Oh, yes, I've forgotten all
about Toby. You see, I met Donald when I went back to London. But do
look at that woman's back; see where her head is. I wonder what made
Rodin put a woman in that position."
She looked at me, and there was a look of curious inquiry on her face.
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