She came tripping downstairs, buttoning her long gloves,
squeezing her folded parasol against her pretty figure,
dressed in the perfection of a soberly elegant traveling costume.
Winterbourne was a man of imagination and, as our ancestors
used to say, sensibility; as he looked at her dress and,
on the great staircase, her little rapid, confiding step,
he felt as if there were something romantic going forward.
He could have believed he was going to elope with her.
He passed out with her among all the idle people that were
assembled there; they were all looking at her very hard;
she had begun to chatter as soon as she joined him.
Winterbourne's preference had been that they should be
conveyed to Chillon in a carriage; but she expressed a lively
wish to go in the little steamer; she declared that she had
a passion for steamboats. There was always such a lovely
breeze upon the water, and you saw such lots of people.
The sail was not long, but Winterbourne's companion found time
to say a great many things. To the young man himself their
little excursion was so much of an escapade--an adventure--
that, even allowing for her habitual sense of freedom,
he had some expectation of seeing her regard it in the same way.
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