"Good-evenin', my lord," said Mr. Pilgrim, with studied politeness. "Will you sit there? Cigar, sir? I can recommend these. I hope you had a pleasant day. How do you like the Hydro?" "Thank you," said Lord Roker, as he took the Bock, and settled himself in the chair indicated. "I have been away in the country all day, so I haven't seen much of the Hydro yet. It seems all right. At any rate, you have got pretty snug quarters." "Yes," said Mr. Pilgrim, with some complacency. "You see, I'm samplin' the British Isles, gettin' the best I can lay hands on, and am storin' my purchases here. This room is furnished with Heppendale an' Chipplewhite's masterpieces, collected by my daughter. Paintin's by Jones an' Rossetti. In the nex' cabin I've got those historical sundries I mentioned. But before we look at them I want you to give me some information." "I shall be delighted to do so, if I have it." "You have it, sir. I may as well explain what I want. I have come over to see Europe for the first time, but I wanter know more about it than Americans do as a gen'ral rule. I'm not content to visit Shakespeare's tomb an' see over Windsor Castle, and then think I've done the old country. I wanter know the people who inhabit her to-day, and you can't get to know them on board trains. That's why I've come to this Hydro. I get here what my secretary calls a symposium of the whole nation. So I'm studyin' people here with the idea of writin' a book on my return. What are your views on things in gen'ral, my lord?" "My dear sir, that's a big order. But I may say I'm pretty well satisfied with things in general." "You are an hereditary legislator, I believe," said Mr. Pilgrim. "I may be some day," replied Lord Roker; "but at present I am not." "Then what is your pertic'ler line in life?" "If you mean business or profession, I have none. I'm a drone." "A drone, sir! I'm delighted," exclaimed Mr. Pilgrim, with marked interest. Then, "Hello, Marion. Back again." Roker turned, and there, framed in the doorway, was a living Romney picture--a radiant girl. She came forward, the light playing on her red-brown hair. "Lord Roker--my daughter," said Mr. Pilgrim. The girl smiled and shook hands. "I hope I'm not interrupting a very serious deliberation," she said, half hesitating. "Indeed not," Lord Roker hastened to assure her, fearful lest this delectable vision should vanish. She took the chair he offered. "Well, what have you gotten at York?" inquired Mr. Pilgrim. "You'd neither of you guess. Three grandfather's clocks." "Three!" exclaimed Mr. Pilgrim. "Sheraton?" he added. "No; just grandfather's clocks, and the dearest ones you ever saw." "I could bet on that," said her father. "Are they genuine?"