‘I have no right to be cross, but you disappoint me. Are these old prejudices never to be done away with, and the two finest nations in the world to meet on terms of perfect amity and mutual esteem? The greater intellects of earth have abandoned them long since, and it is lowering to one’s conceptions of human generosity to find they still linger in the breasts of one’s intimate friends. Why, I suppose, in the whole course of your life, you have never associated with so intellectual and highly-bred a man as Monsieur de Nesselrode; indeed, I am _sure_ you have not. Men like himself are not to be met with in the purlieus of Somerset House, or amongst the “snobbery” of London suburbs. And yet you think you have a right to laugh at him, simply because he is not an Englishman. You make me hate British patriotism! Displayed in this fashion, it is vulgar, offensive, coarse! You would receive more politeness and appreciation yourself from the commonest labourer you met on these country roads than you have accorded to-day to Monsieur de Nesselrode.’ ‘Hilda, I’m awfully sorry! I had no idea you thought so much of this chap as all that.’ This insinuation nettled me still further. ‘I wish to goodness you wouldn’t call him a “chap”—your cockneyisms grate on my ears like a file,’ I said angrily. ‘Please to remember that for the last three months I have been unused to hear the elegancies of the English language.’ This put a summary end to all conversation between us until we reached the Lovetts’ house, when Charlie timidly offered me his hand, and said he supposed he had better go back to the hotel. ‘Good-bye,’ I answered curtly, without any comment on his remark, and the poor young fellow turned away and walked down the street with a very crestfallen air. I think I was a little _too_ hard upon him, but the conviction did not strike me until some hours afterwards. I don’t remember feeling at all penitent until I went to bed that night, and then, on reviewing the day’s proceedings, I was not only sorry but surprised to think that I should have quarrelled with Charlie Sandilands, and for the first time in the course of our long acquaintanceship. Why was it? What could have made me so quick and peppery? It could never have been a foolish disappointment because Armand de Nesselrode had passed me without speaking. As that thought struck me I buried my burning face in the pillows for shame, and resolved that I would apologise to dear old Charlie, and make it up with him again the very first thing in the morning. [Illustration: [Fleuron]] CHAPTER II. MR. CHARTERIS. I hoped all the next day that Charlie would come, but he didn’t. My rough speech had hurt his feelings too much, and I heard afterwards that he wandered about the country in a melancholy mood, from sunrise to sunset, making fierce resolutions to return home by the very next opportunity, which, of course, never came to anything.