She trusted him, liked him, and it was to come back to him afterwards that she had told him things.

She had dipped into the waiting medium at last and found neither surge nor chill--nothing but the small splash she could herself make in the pleasant warmth, nothing but the safety of dipping and dipping again.
At the end of the ten minutes he was to spend with her his impression--with all it had thrown off and all it had taken in--was complete.

She had been free, as she knew freedom, partly to show him that, unlike other little persons she knew, she had imbibed that ideal.
She was delightfully quaint about herself, but the vision of what she had imbibed was what most held him.

It really consisted, he was soon enough to feel, in just one great little matter, the fact that, whatever her nature, she was thoroughly--he had to cast about for the word, but it came--bred.

He couldn't of course on so short an acquaintance speak for her nature, but the idea of breeding was what she had meanwhile dropped into his mind.