"Dorothy!" expostulated Mrs. West, and then without giving him an opportunity of replying, she continued: "but, Mr. Dene, I'm sure they are all extremely patriotic and--and----" "Perhaps it's because I don't understand Englishmen," he conceded. "Why, the other day, when Sir Lyster took me along to see Mr. Llewellyn John about one of the biggest things that's ever likely to come his way, what do you think he talked about?" Mrs. West shook her head, with a smile that seemed to say it was not for her to suggest what First Lords talked of. "Pelicans!" Into that simple and unoffending word John Dene managed to precipitate whole dictionaries of contempt and disapproval. "Pelicans!" repeated Mrs. West in surprise, whilst Dorothy turned aside to hide the smile that was in danger of becoming a laugh. "Sure," replied John Dene. "Birds with beaks like paddle-blades," he added, as if to leave no room for misunderstanding. "But didn't Nero fiddle while Rome burned?" enquired Dorothy mischievously. "Maybe," was the reply, "but I'll auction it didn't put the fire out." Dorothy laughed. "You see, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West gently, "different countries have different traditions----" "I've no use for traditions," was the uncompromising rejoinder. "It seems to me that in this country every one's out to try and prevent every one else from knowing what they're thinking. I've a rare picnic to find out what Sir Lyster's thinking when I'm talking to him." He bit savagely into the end of his cigar, when turning suddenly to Mrs. West he said, "Here, will you and your daughter come and have some tea with me? I suppose we can get tea around here?" he enquired, apparently of the surrounding landscape. "It's very kind of you, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West sweetly. "We should be delighted, shouldn't we, Dorothy?" "Yes, mother," said Dorothy without enthusiasm. John Dene turned suddenly and looked at her. Again he smiled. "Why, I hadn't thought of that," he said. "Thought of what?" she asked. "Why, you see enough of me all the week without my butting in on your holidays." "Oh, Mr. Dene!" cried Dorothy reproachfully, "how can you be so unkind? Now we shall insist upon your taking us to tea, won't we, mother?" Mrs. West smiled up at John Dene who had risen. "I'm afraid we can't let you off now, Mr. Dene," she said sweetly. "Well, I take it, I shan't be tugging at the halter," he said, as they walked towards where the pagoda reared its slim, un-English body above the trees. Having found a table and ordered tea, John Dene looked about him appreciatively. "We haven't got anything like this in T'ronto," he repeated, as if anxious to give full justice to the old country for at least one unique feature. "Thank you for that tribute," said Dorothy demurely. "But it's true," said John Dene, turning to her. "But you don't always say a thing just because it's true, do you?" she enquired. "Sure," was the uncompromising response.