Why is the American woman so popular in English society? Why is her charmingly assertive personality acknowledged everywhere? Why is she received by knights and earls and belted churls with such overpowering enthusiasm? Surely something subtle, elusive and mysterious, clings to her particular form, nature and identity, for more often than not, the stolid Britisher, while falling at her feet and metaphorically kissing the hem of her garment, wonders vaguely how it is that she manages to make such a fool of him! To which, she might reply, on demand, that if he were not a fool already, she would not find her task so easy! For the American woman is, above all women in the world, clever--or let us say “brainy” to an almost incredible height of brainyness. She is “all there.” She can take the measure of a man in about ten minutes and classify him as though he were a botanical specimen. She realizes all his limitations, his “notions,” and his special and particular fads,--and she has the uncommonly good sense not to expect much of him. She would not “take any” on the lily-maid of Astolat, the fair Elaine, who spent her time in polishing the shield of Lancelot, and who finally died of love for that most immoral but fascinating Knight of the Round Table. No, she wouldn’t polish a shield, you bet! She would make Lancelot polish it himself for all he was worth, and polish her own dear little boots and shoes for her into the bargain. That is one of her secrets--masterfulness--or, let us say queenliness, which sounds better. The Lord of creation can do nothing in the way of ordering _her_ about,--because, as the Lady of creation she expects to order _him_ about,--and she does! She expects to be worked for, worshipped and generally attended to,--and she gets her way. What she wants, she will have,--though “Companies” smash, and mighty Combines split into infinite nothingness; and more than any tamer of wild forest animals she makes all her male lions and bears dance at her bidding.