My thoughts had been drifting anywhere and everywhere. Just then they were centered about “my niece's” hands. She had very pretty hands and a most graceful way of using them. At the moment they were idly turning some sheets of music, but the way the slim fingers moved in and out between the pages was pretty and fascinating. Her foot, glimpsed beneath her skirt, was slender and graceful, too. She had an attractive trick of swinging it as she sat upon the piano stool. Recalled from these and other pleasing observations by Bayliss's mention of my name, I looked up. “I beg pardon?” said I. Bayliss repeated his question. “Oh, yes,” said I, and looked down again at the foot. “So I have been told,” said the questioner, triumphantly. “And without that--er--armor many of the players would be killed, would they not?” “What? Oh, yes; yes, of course.” “And many are killed or badly injured as it is?” “Oh, yes.” “How many during a season, may I ask?” “Eh? Oh--I don't know.” “A hundred?” The foot was swinging more rapidly now. It was such a small foot. My own looked so enormous and clumsy and uncouth by comparison. “A--oh, thousands,” said I, at random. If the number were large enough to satisfy him he might cease to worry me. “A beastly game,” declared Judson, with conviction. “How can a civilized country countenance such brutality! Do you countenance it, Mr. Knowles?” “Yes--er--that is, no.” “You agree, then, that it is brutal?” “Certainly, certainly.” Would the fellow never stop? “Then--” “Nonsense!” It was Frances who spoke and her tone was emphatic and impatient. We all looked at her; her cheeks were flushed and she appeared highly indignant. “Nonsense!” she said again. “He doesn't agree to any such thing. I've heard him say that American football was not as brutal as our fox-hunting and that fewer people were killed or injured. We play polo and we ride in steeplechases and the papers are full of accidents. I don't believe Americans are more brutal or less civilized in their sports than we are, not in the least.” Considering that she had at the beginning of the conversation apparently agreed with all that had been said, and, moreover, had often, in speaking to Hephzy and me, referred to the “States” as an uncivilized country, this declaration was astonishing. I was astonished for one. Hephzy clapped her hands. “Of course they aren't,” she declared. “Hosy--Mr. Knowles--didn't mean that they were, either.” Our callers looked at each other and Herbert Bayliss hastily changed the subject. After they had gone I ventured to thank my champion for coming to the rescue of my sporting countrymen. She flashed an indignant glance at me. “Why do you say such things?” she demanded. “You know they weren't true.” “What was the use of saying anything else? They have read the accounts of football games which American penny-a-line correspondents send to the London papers and nothing I could say would change their convictions.”