“Yes,” he admitted, rather too quickly—­and her rippling laugh rang out.  He had hardly ever heard her laugh, and it enchanted him, even though he was nettled at her understanding of his thought.

“It remains for men to make us desire to play the same part always—­if they find it agreeable.”

Again he said “Yes”—­but this time slowly.

“Now you Englishmen have the heredity of absolute phlegm to fight.  While we ought to be trying to counteract jumping from one role to another, you ought to try to teach yourselves that versatility is a good thing, too, in its way.”

“I am sure it is.  I wish you would teach me to understand it—­but you yourself seem to be restful and stable.  How have you achieved this?”

“By studying the meaning of things, I suppose, and checking myself every time I began to want to do the restless things I saw my countrywomen doing.  We have wonderful wills, you know, and if we want a thing sufficiently, we can get anything.  That is why Moravia says we make such successful great ladies in the different countries we marry into.  Your great ladies, if they are nice, are great naturally, and if they are not, they often fail, even if they are born aristocrats.  We do not often fail, because we know very well we are taking on a part, and must play it to the very best of our ability all the time—­and gradually we play it better than if it were natural.”

“What a little cynic!  ’Out of the mouths of babes’!” and he laughed.

“I am not at all a cynic!  It is the truth I am telling you.  I admire and respect our methods far more than yours, which just ‘growed’ like Topsy!”

“But cynicism and truth are, unfortunately, synonymous.  Only you are too young, and ought not to know anything about either!”

“I like to know and do things I ought not to!” Her eyes were merry.

“Tell me some more about your countrywomen.  I’m awfully interested, and have always been too frightened of their brilliancy to investigate myself.”

“We are not nearly so bothered with hearts as Europeans—­heredity again.  Our mothers and fathers generally sprang from people working too hard to have great emotions—­then we arrive, and have every luxury poured upon us from birth; and if we have hardy characters we weather the deluge and remain very decent citizens.”

“And if you have not?”

“Why, naturally the instincts for hard work, which made our parents succeed, if they remain idle must make some explosion.  So we grow restless in our palaces, and get fads and nerves and quaint diseases—­and have to come to Carlsbad—­and talk to sober Englishmen!” The look of mischief which she vouchsafed him was perfectly adorable.  He was duly affected.

“You take us as a sort of cure!”

“Yes——!”

“How do you know so much about us and our faults?  I gathered, from what you said last night at dinner, that you have never been in England but once, for a month, when you were almost a child.”