Billie’s eye had lost its cheerful friendliness. A somewhat feline expression had taken its place. “Pretty well,” she replied. “You don’t like it?” “Well, the way I look at it is this. It’s no use grumbling. One has got to realise that in England one is in a savage country, and one should simply be thankful one isn’t eaten by the natives.” “What makes you call England a savage country?” demanded Sam, a staunch patriot, deeply stung. “What would you call a country where you can’t get ice, central heating, corn-on-the-cob, or bathrooms? My father and Mr. Mortimer have just taken a house down on the coast and there’s just one niggly little bathroom in the place.” “Is that your only reason for condemning England?” “Oh no, it has other drawbacks.” “Such as?” “Well, Englishmen, for instance. Young Englishmen in particular. English young men are awful! Idle, rude, conceited, and ridiculous.” Marlowe refused hock with a bitter intensity which nearly startled the old retainer, who had just offered it to him, into dropping the decanter. “How many English young men have you met?” Billie met his eye squarely and steadily. “Well, now that I come to think of it, not many. In fact, very few. As a matter of fact, only....” “Only?” “Well, very few,” said Billie. “Yes,” she said meditatively, “I suppose I really have been rather unjust. I should not have condemned a class simply because ... I mean, I suppose there _are_ young Englishmen who are not rude and ridiculous?” “I suppose there are American girls who have hearts.” “Oh, plenty.” “I’ll believe that when I meet one.” Sam paused. Cold aloofness was all very well, but this conversation was developing into a vulgar brawl. The ghosts of dead and gone Marlowes, all noted for their courtesy to the sex, seemed to stand beside his chair, eyeing him reprovingly. His work, they seemed to whisper, was becoming raw. It was time to jerk the interchange of thought back into the realm of distant civility. “Are you making a long stay in London, Miss Bennett?” “No, not long. We are going down to the country almost immediately. I told you my father and Mr. Mortimer had taken a house there.” “You will enjoy that.” “I’m sure I shall. Mr. Mortimer’s son Bream will be there. That will be nice.” “Why?” said Sam, backsliding. There was a pause. “_He_ isn’t rude and ridiculous, eh?” said Sam gruffly. “Oh, no. His manners are perfect, and he has such a natural dignity,” she went on, looking affectionately across the table at the heir of the Mortimers, who, finding Mr. Bennett’s medical confidences a trifle fatiguing, was yawning broadly, and absently balancing his wine glass on a fork. “Besides,” said Billie in a soft and dreamy voice, “we are engaged to be married!” § 3