“I fancy they’re staring at what I can’t take my eyes off of,” he replied. “You _do_ look swift this morning.” “Swift! I don’t like that.” She was frowning. “You Englishmen come over here and think you can say what you please.” “I can’t see where’s the harm in telling a girl she’s pretty and well got up, and looks a stunner.” “That isn’t what ‘swift’ means in Chicago.” “Really! You don’t say! That’s what it means in London.” “But you’re not in London.” “No.” His tone strongly suggested a wish that he were. “Wouldn’t it be jolly if this were Hyde Park!” she exclaimed. He did not show enthusiasm at this--but then his face was made to suppress, not to express, emotion. “I simply adore London,” she went on. “It ain’t bad--for a while, now and then.” “There’s so much atmosphere about London--I don’t mean the fog and soot. Here, they’re all crazy about making money and working and all those kind of things. Whereas, over there, everybody’s for having a good time and--all those kind of things. Sometimes I think I’ll throw a fit if I don’t get away from here.” He looked gloom, then brightened--yes, she was tremendously pretty, and her mouth was like a red-ripe cherry; yes, she might be toned down into a fairly decent countess. “They’re quick to adapt themselves, these American girls. The minute she sees Evelyn she’ll begin to learn.” “I don’t see how you stand it,” she continued. “When are you going away? Not that I sha’n’t be sorry--you’ve been awfully nice to me, and I like to see a really well-dressed man once in a while.” “Ah, I don’t mind it here.” He paused for fully a minute, then said: “And I’d like it, you know, if I could take you with me when I go.” He followed this speech with a slow turning of the head until his eyeglass was full upon her. “By Jove, her colour’s genuine,” he said to himself. She had been happy a few minutes before; now she was all thrills and palings and flushings of ecstacy. She glanced at her conquest with sparkling eyes and laughing lips. She made him forget what “bad form” he had been thinking her. “Is that a joke?” she asked, as if she were assuming that it was. “We don’t go in for joking about that sort of thing where I come from,” he drawled. “But you oughtn’t to have said it here.” She was radiant, but her hands were trembling--it seemed most romantic to her, quite like a chapter out of a novel. Nobility and titles and genuine aristocracy, that not only recognised itself, but also was recognised as aristocracy by everybody, seemed to her as dream-like as fairyland. “And he does so look the part!” she said to herself. “Anyone could see that he is the real thing.” “If you’ll drive home I’ll ask you again there,” he continued.