Then, of course, I stopped and turned a strange and beautiful red, something, I imagine, the color of a faded American beauty rose. “Yes,” he said smiling, “I am. At least I hope I am. I’m not sure.” “What, please,” I said, “is your name? I know all about your noble qualities, but I do not know your name.” “My name,” he said, “is Vance Grévy.” “Oh!” was all I could say, thinking how this was probably the particular person madam grandmother had picked out for me. Of course I couldn’t keep back my silly self-conscious grin, and he smiled in much the same way I did. “May I present you,” I said, feeling very “heady,” the way Paprika used to on a cold morning, “to my madam grandmother?” “Thank you,” he said, “I have just had the honor of talking with her. You were so surrounded that I waited for a moment before venturing to come to you.” He smiled more than ever. I summoned my courage. I think it was my courage. Perhaps it didn’t deserve so good a name. “May I inquire what she said to you?” “Do you really want to hear?” “More than anything.” “And you’ll not lay it up against me?” he badgered. “On my honor!” “Then she said: ‘My dear Mr. Grévy, you are, I take it, the grandson of my old friend.’ She put up her lorgnette and looked me over. ‘Yes, you are the living image of him! Ah, your grandfather and I were good friends indeed, at one time, I assure you.’ ‘How I regret,’ I said, ‘that he had two generations the advantage of me.’ The dear little thing let me kiss her hand. ‘You have his turns of speech, also,’ she said. Then she asked: ‘Have you seen my granddaughter, the only child of my dear Jack?’ ‘I am on my way to it,’ I declared. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘we must see to it, we Knoxes and Ravanels, we Bryces and Grévys, that she makes no mistakes, must we not?’ She looked at me again through her lorgnette, appealing apparently to my chivalry. ‘We are a solid phalanx,’ said I, ‘to see that she comes to no harm.’ ‘We understand each other,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Your family never did need superfluous words.’” I laughed and laughed. “I have a friend, Mr. Rowantree,” I said, “who likes to tell me about the comedy of manners. Isn’t that what madam grandmother plays all of the time?” “Just! But isn’t she exquisite? A survival of a splendid old time.” “Yes. Oh, you can’t think how I admire and love her.” “Yes, I can. I can very easily think how you do. Shall you confine yourself in your associations, Miss Knox, to the Ravanels and the Grévys? Why not cut out the Ravanels?” “There aren’t many of them left, are there?” I asked more gravely. “And you—shall I have many Grévy’s to choose from?” “There’s my great aunt and my mother and my married brother and some second cousins—nice girls they are, too.” “Oh, that’s quite a selection. Now tell me about my Carin.”