"It was a revelation to mine," I said earnestly--"a revelation." Then, remembering Mr. Mafferton's somewhat painful connection with the revelation, I added carefully, "From a historic point of view. The Tower, you know, and all that." "Ah!" said Mr. Mafferton, with a distant eye upon the Campagna. It was really very difficult. "Do you remember the day we went to Madame Tussaud's?" I asked. Perhaps my intonation was a little dreamy. "I shall _never_ forget William the Conqueror--never." "Yes--yes, I think I do." It was clearly an effort of memory. "And now," I said regretfully, "it can never be the same again." "Certainly not." He used quite unnecessary emphasis. "William and the others having been since destroyed by fire," I continued. Mr. Mafferton looked foolish. "What a terrible scene that must have been! Didn't you feel when all that royal wax melted as if the dynasties of England had been wrecked over again! What effect did it have on dear old Victoria?" "One question at a time," said Mr. Mafferton, and I think he smiled. "Now you remind me of Sandford and Merton," I said, "and a place for everything and everything in its place. And punctuality is the thief of time. And many others." "You haven't got it _quite_ right," said Mr. Mafferton with incipient animation. "May I correct you? 'Procrastination,' not 'punctuality.'" "Thanks," I said. I could not help observing that for quite five minutes Mr. Mafferton had made no effort to overhear the conversation between Mr. Dod and Miss Portheris. It was a trifle, but life is made up of little things. "I don't believe we adorn our conversation with proverbs in America as much as we did," I continued. "I guess it takes too long. If you make use of a proverb you see, you've got to allow for reflection first, and reflection afterwards, and a sigh, and very few of us have time for that. It is one of our disadvantages." Mr. Mafferton heard me with attention. "Really!" he said in quite his old manner when we used to discuss Presidential elections and peanuts and other features of life in my republic. "That is a fact of some interest--but I see you cling to one little Americanism, Miss Wick. Do you remember"--he actually looked arch--"once assuring me that you intended to abandon the verb to 'guess'?" "I don't know why we should leave all the good words to Shakespeare," I said, "but I was under a great many hallucinations about the American language in England, and I daresay I did." If I responded coldly, it was at the thought of my last interview with poor dear Arthur, and his misprised larynx. But at this moment a wildly encouraging sign from Dicky reminded me that his interests and not my own emotions were to be considered. "We mustn't reproach each other, must we," I said softly. "_I_ don't bear a particle of malice--really and truly."