“I’m afraid I haven’t the natural American clothes,” said Aurora in tribute to the other’s splendour. “Well, your dress was cut in France; any one can see that.” “Yes,” our young lady laughed, “my dress was cut in France—at Avranches.” “Well, you’ve got a lovely figure anyway,” pursued her companion. “Ah,” she said for the pleasantry of it, “at Avranches, too, my figure was admired.” And she looked at me askance and with no clear poverty of intention. But I was an innocent youth and I only looked back at her and wondered. She was a great deal nicer than Miss Ruck, and yet Miss Ruck wouldn’t have said that in that way. “I try to be the American girl,” she continued; “I do my best, though mamma doesn’t at all encourage it. I’m very patriotic. I try to strike for freedom, though mamma has brought me up à la française; that is as much as one can in pensions. For instance I’ve never been out of the house without mamma—oh never never! But sometimes I despair; American girls do come out so with things. I can’t come out, I can’t rush in, like that. I’m awfully pinched, I’m always afraid. But I do what I can, as you see. Excusez du peu!” I thought this young lady of an inspiration at least as untrammelled as her unexpatriated sisters, and her despondency in the true note of much of their predominant prattle. At the same time she had by no means caught, as it seemed to me, what Miss Ruck called the natural American style. Whatever her style was, however, it had a fascination—I knew not what (as I called it) distinction, and yet I knew not what odd freedom. The young ladies began to stroll about the garden again, and I enjoyed their society until M. Pigeonneau’s conception of a “high time” began to languish. V Mr. Ruck failed to take his departure for Appenzell on the morrow, in spite of the eagerness to see him off quaintly attributed by him to Mrs. Church. He continued on the contrary for many days after to hang about the garden, to wander up to the banker’s and back again, to engage in desultory conversation with his fellow boarders, and to endeavour to assuage his constitutional restlessness by perusal of the American journals. But it was at least on the morrow that I had the honour of making Mrs. Church’s acquaintance. She came into the salon after the midday breakfast, her German octavo under her arm, and appealed to me for assistance in selecting a quiet corner.