Mrs. Westgate, on her side, had plenty to say to her sister about the rarity of the latter’s visits and the non-appearance at their own door of the Duchess of Bayswater. She confessed, however, to taking more pleasure in this hush of symptoms than she could have taken in the most lavish attentions on the part of that great lady. “It’s unmistakable,” she said, “delightfully unmistakable; a most interesting sign that we’ve made them wretched. The day we dined with him I was really sorry for the poor boy.” It will have been gathered that the entertainment offered by Lord Lambeth to his American friends had been graced by the presence of no near relation. He had invited several choice spirits to meet them, but the ladies of his immediate family were to Mrs. Westgate’s sense—a sense perhaps morbidly acute—conspicuous by their hostile absence. “I don’t want to work you up any further,” Bessie at last ventured to remark, “but I don’t know why you should have so many theories about Lord Lambeth’s poor mother. You know a great many young men in New York without knowing their mothers.” Mrs. Westgate rested deep eyes on her sister and then turned away. “My dear Bessie, you’re superb!” “One thing’s certain”—the girl continued not to blench at her irony. “If I believed I were a cause of annoyance, however unwitting, to Lord Lambeth’s family I should insist—” “Insist on my leaving England?” Mrs. Westgate broke in. “No, not that. I want to go to the National Gallery again; I want to see Stratford-on-Avon and Canterbury Cathedral. But I should insist on his ceasing relations with us.” “That would be very modest and very pretty of you—but you wouldn’t do it at this point.” “Why do you say ‘at this point’?” Bessie asked. “Have I ceased to be modest?” “You care for him too much. A month ago, when you said you didn’t, I believe it was quite true. But at present, my dear child,” said Mrs. Westgate, “you wouldn’t find it quite so simple a matter never to see Lord Lambeth again. I’ve watched it come on.” “You’re mistaken,” Bessie declared. “You don’t understand.” “Ah, you poor proud thing, don’t be perverse!” her companion returned. The girl gave the matter, thus admonished, some visible thought. “I know him better certainly, if you mean that. And I like him very much. But I don’t like him enough to make trouble for him with his family. However, I don’t believe in that.” “I like the way you say ‘however’!” Mrs. Westgate commented. “Do you pretend you wouldn’t be glad to marry him?” Again Bessie calmly considered. “It would take a great deal more than is at all imaginable to make me marry him.” Her relative showed an impatience. “And what’s the great difficulty?” “The great difficulty is that I shouldn’t care to,” said Bessie Alden.