“To be sure, to be sure,” cheerfully exclaimed Gerard, straightening up from jouncing James Herbert. “I know her well. Her sister and her husband are here with her. That little baby is hers, of course. They live just over the hill here. I admire your taste. She is one of the smartest women I know. I told her that you were stopping here and she wants you to come over and see the Christmas tree lighted. We are all invited after dinner.” “Very good,” observed Barfleur, rubbing his hands. “Now that is settled.” “Isn’t she charming,” observed Mrs. G. A. Barfleur, “to be so politely disposed?” Thereafter the dinner could not come too soon, and by two-thirty we were ready to depart, having consumed Heaven knows how many kinds of wines and meats, English plum-pudding, and--especially for me--real German Limburger. It was a splendid dinner. Shall I stop to describe it? I cannot say, outside of the interesting English company, that it was any better or any worse than many another Christmas feast in which I have participated. Imagine the English dining-room, the English maid, the housekeeper in watchful attendance on the children, the maid, like a bit of Dresden china, on guard over the service, Barfleur, monocle in eye, sitting solemnly in state at the head of the board, Lord Scorp, T. McT., Gerard Barfleur, his mother, her daughter, myself, the children all chattering and gobbling. The high-sounding English voices, the balanced English phrases, the quaint English scene through the windows,--it all comes back, a bit of sweet color. Was I happy? Very. Did I enjoy myself? Quite. But as to this other matter. It was a splendid afternoon. On the way over, Barfleur and myself, the others refusing contemptuously to have anything to do with this sentimental affair, had the full story of our lady of the donkey and her sister and the two brothers that they married.