"Of course, I never accepted any of them, even for a moment. But they had such a way of taking things for granted. Why one man actually thought I was engaged to him!" "Really!" said Arthur. "May I inquire----" "No, dear," I replied, "I think not. I couldn't tell anybody about it--for his sake. It was all a silly mistake. Some of them," I added thoughtfully, "were very stupid." "Judging from the specimens that find their way over here," Arthur remarked, "I should say there was plenty of room in their heads for their brains." Arthur was sitting on the other side of the fireplace, and by this time his expression was aggressive. I thought his remark unnecessarily caustic, but I did not challenge it. "_Some_ of them were stupid," I repeated, "but they were nearly all nice." And I went on to say that what Chicago people as a whole thought about it I didn't know and I didn't care, but so far as _my_ experience went the English were the loveliest nation in the world. "A nation like a box of strawberries," Mr. Page suggested, "all the big ones on top, all the little ones at the bottom." "That doesn't matter to us," I replied cheerfully, "we never get any further than the top. And you'll admit there's a great tendency for little ones to shake down. It's only a question of time. They've had so much time in England. You see the effects of it everywhere." "Not at all. By no means. _Our_ little strawberries rise," he declared. "Do they? Dear me, so they do! I suppose the American law of gravity is different. In England they would certainly smile at that." Arthur said nothing, but his whole bearing expressed a contempt for puns. "Of course," I said, "I mean the loveliest nation after Americans." I thought he might have taken that for granted. Instead, he looked incredulous and smiled, in an observing, superior way. "Why do you say 'ahfter'?" he asked. His tone was sweetly acidulated. "Why do you say 'affter'?" I replied simply. "Because," he answered with quite unnecessary emphasis, "in the part of the world I come from everybody says it. Because my mother has brought me up to say it." "Oh," I said, looking at the lamp, "they say it like that in other parts of the world too. In Yorkshire--and such places. As far as _mothers_ go, I must tell you that momma approves of my pronunciation. She likes it better than anything else I have brought back with me--even my tailor-mades--and thinks it wonderful that I should have acquired it in the time." "Don't you think you could remember a little of your good old American? Doesn't it seem to come back to you?" All the Wicks hate sarcasm, especially from those they love, and I certainly had not outgrown my fondness for Mr. Page at this time. "It all came back to me, my dear Arthur," I said, "the moment you opened your lips!"