I did not see my family again until the following spring. Business compelled me to go abroad, and they had come over to London for the season. When I descended from the train at Euston, a little confused by the strangeness, I saw my wife a few yards down the platform. Beside her stood a tall, beautiful young woman, whom I did not instantly recognize as my daughter. Both were dressed with the perfection of taste and of detail that has made the American woman famous throughout the world. I like well-dressed women--and well-dressed men, too. I should certainly have been convicted of poor taste had I not been dazzled by those two charming examples of fashion and style. They looked like two lovely sisters, the elder not more than five or six years in advance of the younger. I was a youthful-looking man, myself--except, perhaps, when I was in the midst of affairs and took on the air of responsibility that cannot appear in the face of youth. But no one would have believed there were so few years between Edna and me. Nor was she in the least made-up. The youth was genuinely there. That meeting must have impressed the by-standers, who were observing the two women with admiring interest. I felt a glow of enthusiasm at sight of these elegant beauties. I was proud to be able to claim them. As for them, they became radiant the instant they saw me. “Godfrey!” cried Edna loudly, rushing toward me. “Papa--dear old papa!” cried Margot, waving her arms in a pretty gesture of impatient adoration while her mother was detaining me from her embrace. “Well--well!” cried I. “What a pair of girls! My, but you’re tearing it off!” They laughed gayly, and hugged and kissed me all over again. For a moment I felt that I had been missed--and that I had missed them. A good-looking, shortish and shy young man, dressed and groomed in the attractive English upper-class way of exquisiteness with no sacrifice of manliness, was now brought forward. “Lord Crossley--my husband,” said Edna. “Pleased, I’m sure,” murmured the young man, giving me his hand with an awkwardness that was somehow not awkward--or, rather, that conveyed a subtle impression of good breeding. “Now that you’ve got him--or that he’s got you,” proceeded he, “I’ll toddle along.” My wife gave him her hand carelessly. “Until dinner,” she said.