 Bohemian.«
    »A Bohemian?« Gertrude had never heard this term before, save as a
geographical denomination; and she quite failed to understand the figurative
meaning which her companion appeared to attach to it. But it gave her pleasure.
    Felix had pushed back his chair and risen to his feet; he slowly came toward
her, smiling. »I am a sort of adventurer,« he said, looking down at her.
    She got up, meeting his smile. »An adventurer?« she repeated. »I should like
to hear your adventures.«
    For an instant she believed that he was going to take her hand; but he
dropped his own hands suddenly into the pockets of his painting-jacket. »There
is no reason why you shouldn't,« he said. »I have been an adventurer, but my
adventures have been very innocent. They have all been happy ones; I don't think
there are any I shouldn't tell. They were very pleasant and very pretty; I
should like to go over them in memory. Sit down again, and I will begin,« he
added in a moment, with his naturally persuasive smile.
    Gertrude sat down again on that day, and she sat down on several other days.
Felix, while he plied his brush, told her a great many stories, and she listened
with charmed avidity. Her eyes rested upon his lips; she was very serious;
sometimes, from her air of wondering gravity, he thought she was displeased. But
Felix never believed for more than a single moment in any displeasure of his own
producing. This would have been fatuity if the optimism it expressed had not
been much more a hope than a prejudice. It is beside the matter to say that he
had a good conscience; for the best conscience is a sort of self-reproach, and
this young man's brilliantly healthy nature spent itself in objective good
intentions which were ignorant of any test save exactness in hitting their mark.
He told Gertrude how he had walked over France and Italy with a painter's
knapsack on his back, paying his way often by knocking off a flattering portrait
of his host or hostess. He told her how he had played the violin in a little
band of musicians - not of high celebrity - who traveled through foreign lands
giving provincial concerts. He told her also how he had been a momentary
ornament of a troupe of strolling actors, engaged in the arduous task of
interpreting Shakespeare to French and German, Polish and Hungarian audiences.
    While this periodical recital was going on,
