“I thought it would pass the time,” said Philip.
“If you find it long you needn’t bother about me, you know. I don’t mind being left alone.”
At that moment two men passed, in brown velveteens, enormous trousers, and basque caps. They were young, but both wore beards.
“I say, are those art-students?” said Philip. “They might have stepped out of the Vie de Boheme.”
“They’re Americans,” said Miss Price scornfully. “Frenchmen haven’t worn things like that for thirty years, but the Americans from the Far West buy those clothes and have themselves photographed the day after they arrive in Paris. That’s about as near to art as they ever get. But it doesn’t matter to them, they’ve all got money.”