related afterwards, illustrative of grotesque terror, cowardice, and utter abandonment of all shadows of convention-that all should end in an anticlimax of trifling danger, upon whi

ight all be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean this morning. Just think what column

and I was rude to Blanche," Bettina said to Mrs. Worthington. "In fact I

tting on my shoes, instead of trying to comb my hair with them. It was startling to see you march into the stater

"We clutched at him and gibbered together. Where is the red-haired man

suppose," Bettina answered, "b

him, because he did not gibber," said Blanche. "H

ruth was that the nearer his approach to his native shores, the nastier, he was perfectly conscious, his temper bec

te smart in various, not too distinguished ways. He had not changed his dress at all, and the large valise upon the luggage rack was worn and battered as if with long and rough usage. The woman wondered a little if he would address her, and inquire after the health of her mistress. But, being an ast

ion, he got up, reaching down his valise and leaving the carri

out to the driver, jumped

.

nd his domestic appendages are in a proportion much higher in its relation to these resources than it would be were he English, French, German, or Italians. As a consequence, he expects, when he goes forth, whether holiday-making or on business, that his hostelry shall surround him, either with holiday luxuries and gaiety, or with such lavishness of comfort as shall alleviate the wear and tear of business cares and fatigues. The rich man demands something almost as good as he has left at home, the man of moderate means something much better. Certain persons given to regarding public wants and desires as foundations for the fortune of business schemes having discovered this, the enormous and sum

ould look out at the broad splendid, muddy Thames, slowly rolling in its grave, stately way beneath its bridges, bearing with it heavy lumberi

of England, as she had never been to the country at all in those earlier years, when her knowledge of places must necessarily have been always t

she had been a child, had had most definite private views on the subject of visits to England. She had made up her young mind absolutely that she would not, if it were decently possible to avoid it, set her foot upon English soil until she was old enough and strong enough to carry out what had been at first her passionately romantic plans for discovering and facing the truth o

ain-but England we love. How it moves us when we go to it, how we gush if we are simple and effusive, how we are stirred imaginatively if we are of the perceptive class. I have heard the commonest little half-educated woman say the prettiest, clumsy, emotional things about what she has seen there. A New England schoolma'am, who has made a Cook's tour, will almost have tears in her voice as she wanders on with her commonplaces about ha

her window looking out at the Thames, the Embankment, the hansom cabs themselves, with

tensely glad that I have saved it so long and that I have known it only as part of literature. I am even charmed that it rains, and that the c

azing eyes, Betty! I am trying to picture to myself what Lady Anstrut

y lovely. She was capable of a warmth and a sweetness which we

ttle girl, with long legs and a high, determined vo

ot like your brother-in-law, and tha

had not been trained at all (one had only been allowed tremendous liberty), and interfered conversationally with one's elders and betters at any moment. I

r Nigel Anstruthers a

tle tongue. I am giving some thought now to the kind of thing I must invent as a suitable apology when I

t meeting," Mrs. Worthington reflected. "

d the horror." Then, with a swift change of subject and a lifting of her slender, ve

omentary glance of uncertainty, almost

Of London?

h was mellow w

landed here thirty years ago and revelled in the resemblance to Dickens's characters they met with in the streets, and were historically thrilled by the places where people's heads were chopped off. Imagine their reflections on Charles I.,

rs. Worthington was vaguely

ou began, that you have never really had the flavours and emotions. I am sophisticated, too, sophisticated enough to have cherished my flavours as a gourmet tries to save the bouquet of old wine. You think that the Tower is the pleasure of hous

laughed also, and

clever, Bett

ost everybody is clever in these days. We are

the Anstruthers will exult in you. If they

ered species), 'When they first came over they were a novelty. Their enthusiasm amused people, but now, you see, it has become vieux jeu. Young women, whose specialty was to be excited by the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey, are not novelties any l

curiosity, arising from a faint doubt of her entire seri

light, but very involuntary-look

ely to add a detail to one's lesson in English history. But, as we drove across Waterloo Bridge, I caught a glimpse of the Tower, and what do you suppose I began to think of? It was monstrous. I saw a door in the Tower and the stone steps, and the square space, and in the chill clear, early morning a little slender, helpless girl led out, a little, fair, real thing like Rosy, all alone-everyone she belonged to far away, not a man near who dared utter a word of pity whe

!" Mrs. Worthing

er and took her han

did not intend deliberately to be painful. But that-beneath