“Fancy,” he repeated with gaiety—“fancy taking those brutes first! But you _will_ come soon?” “It’s the dream of my life!” Bessie Alden brightly professed. “Your sister at any rate seems to know a tremendous lot about us,” Lord Lambeth went on. She appeared to take her view of this. “My sister and I are two very different persons. She has been a great deal in Europe. She has been in England a little—not intimately. But she has met English people in other countries, and she arrives very quickly at conclusions.” “Ah, I guess she does,” he laughed. “But you must have known some too.” “No—I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to one before. You’re the first Englishman that—to my knowledge—I’ve ever talked with.” Bessie Alden made this statement with a certain gravity—almost, as it seemed to the young man, an impressiveness. The impressive always made him feel awkward, and he now began to laugh and swing his stick. “Ah, you’d have been sure to know!” And then he added after an instant: “I’m sorry I’m not a better specimen.” The girl looked away, but taking it more gaily. “You must remember you’re only a beginning.” Then she retraced her steps, leading the way back to the lawn, where they saw Mrs. Westgate come toward them with Percy Beaumont still at her side. “Perhaps I shall go to England next year,” Miss Alden continued; “I want to immensely. My sister expects to cross about then, and she has asked me to go with her. If I do I shall make her stay as long as possible in London.” “Ah, you must come early in July,” said Lord Lambeth. “That’s the time when there’s most going on.” “I don’t think I can wait even till early in July,” his friend returned. “By the first of May I shall be very impatient.” They had gone further, and Mrs. Westgate and her companion were near. “Kitty,” said the younger sister, “I’ve given out that we go to London next May. So please to conduct yourself accordingly.” Percy Beaumont wore a somewhat animated—even a slightly irritated—air. He was by no means of so handsome an effect as his comrade, though in the latter’s absence he might, with his manly stature and his fair dense beard, his fresh clean skin and his quiet outlook, have pleased by a due affirmation of the best British points. Just now Beaumont’s clear eyes had a rather troubled light, which, after glancing at Bessie Alden while she spoke, he turned with some intensity on Lord Lambeth. Mrs. Westgate’s beautiful radiance of interest and dissent fell meanwhile impartially everywhere. “You had better wait till the time comes,” she said to her sister. “Perhaps next May you won’t care so much for London. Mr. Beaumont and I,” she went on, smiling at her companion, “have had a tremendous discussion. We don’t agree about anything. It’s perfectly delightful.” “Oh I say, Percy!” exclaimed Lord Lambeth. “I disagree,” said Beaumont, raising his eyebrows and stroking down his back hair, “even to the point of thinking it _not_ delightful.”