I picked up a train of cars, and, to my astonishment, found it stamped with the name of a Connecticut firm. I hesitated to say more, for I knew that I was on dangerous ground, but after that I looked at every book or box of blocks and the like, to find that my suspicions were well founded. England gets many of its Christmas toys from America. Nothing came of this episode except a pleasant introduction for Barfleur, who had all the future before him. I was leaving for Manchester after the new year, and for Paris a week or two later. It was all in vain as I foresaw, that I was invited to call again, or that she hoped to see something of me among her friends in London. I think I said as much to Barfleur with many unkind remarks about the type of mind that manages to secure all merely by a process of waiting. Meantime he walked bravely forward, his overcoat snugly buttoned, his cane executing an idle circle, his monocle on straight, his nose in the air. I could have made away with him for much less. The last of this very gallant day came in the home of Barfleur himself. As we neared the house we decided to hurry forward and to say that Gerard had remained at the Churchill’s for dinner, while he made a wide detour, ending up, I think, in some chamber in the coach house. I did not see him again until much later in the evening, but meantime the children, the relatives, the friends and the family servants were all gathered in the nursery on the second floor. There was much palaver and badinage concerning the fact that Santa Claus had really had such bad reports that he had found it much against his will to come here, early at least. There were some rather encouraging things that had been reported to him later, however, and he had, so some one had heard, changed his mind. Whether there would be little or much for such a collection of ne’er-do-wells was open to question. However if we were all very quiet for a while we should see. I can see Barfleur now in his gala attire, stalking nobly about, and the four little Barfleurs surveying rather incredulously but expectantly the maid, the nurse, the governess, and their father. I wondered what had become of my small mementos and whether my special cigarettes for Barfleur were in safety in Santa Claus’s pack. It was small stock, I fear me much, that these well-behaved little English children took in this make-believe, but presently there was a loud hammering at the nursery door, and without a “By your leave,” the same was opened and a vigorous, woolly-headed Santa Claus put his rosy face into the chamber. “Is there any one living here by the name of Percy Franklin Barfleur, or Berenice Barfleur, or James Herbert Barfleur?” I shall not repeat all the names he called in a high falsetto voice, “I’ve been a long way to-day and I’ve had a great deal to do, and I haven’t had the least assistance from anybody. They’re so busy having a good time themselves.”