Though we Anglo-Saxons, the Siamese twins of the Atlantic, are so closely bound together by the ties of speech and history, though the best blood of Britain has been generously given to the building up of the great nation of the west, there are differences of temperament, probably induced by climate, which divide us into well-marked varieties of the human family. Thus, while Hooper did not hesitate to express his wordy delight, and with animated face and lively movement exhibit the dynamic energy called into play by Karl’s announcement, I strove to stiffen myself into a passable representation of a wooden image. I suppose we Britons do that sort of thing because we think that sort of thing is the correct thing, don’chyno. You have but to cross the Atlantic a few times to obtain clear mind-pictures of the expansive Jonathan and the bovine Bull. An American liner puts off from Pier 14 in the Hudson River and swings slowly in the stream until her nose points towards the Statue of Liberty. Look back at the wharf banked high with people, and see the innumerable little flags, the countless handkerchiefs, signalling frantic farewells! That is enthusiasm! If Brown and his wife set forth for Europe, Smith, Jones, and Robinson and their respective wives gather on the steamer to see the Browns off. There is a lot of excitement, flowers, and flag-wagging--perhaps some furtive tears--but, anyhow, an honest display of unbridled human nature. Then see that same vessel edging away from Southampton quay, and note the guarded leave-taking of those rare individuals who depart so greatly from British traditions as to speed their voyaging friends as far as the ship’s gangway. The last time I was there, a dozen of us, cowering behind rain-swept railway trucks, had journeyed from London to see off a whole ship’s company. Do you fancy we flagged anybody, or waved handkerchiefs, or yelled cheery messages? Not we! We watched the steamer disappearing into a squall and then eyed each other suspiciously, if not with active hostility; while some of us negotiated for the only available cab. Yet it is all gammon, this seeming stoicism, a smug respectability which “goes well,” as the milliners say, with a silk hat and an umbrella. Indeed, if for “climate” you read “umbrella,” you have what Max Müller would call the “root concept” of my philosophy. John adapts his garments to suit his uncertain weather, and he carries this covering-up method into all the affairs of life. Certain explanations to the authorities procured permission for Karl to go to London. I accompanied him in the time-honored rôle of _amicus curiæ_, but Hooper, of his own accord, said it would be more seemly if he were held in reserve as one who could offer confirmatory evidence if it were required. Three hours after the receipt of Mrs. Grier’s telegram we were at the inquiry office of the Pall Mall Hotel. It was then 6 P.M.