I saw that Edna was in the same ecstatic trance. I leaned back and tried to distract myself with the novelty of London houses and crowds. It may be you understand the mingling of pity, contempt, anger, and amusement that filled my breast. If you do not understand, explanation would merely weary you. I was no longer proud of my beautiful family; I wished to get away from them, to forget them. Edna and Margot chatted on and on about the king and queen, about the various titled people they knew or hoped to know, about the thrills of aristocratic society. I tried not to listen. After a while I said, with I hope not unsuccessful attempt at amiability: “I’m sorry I shan’t be here to witness your triumph.” Across Edna’s face swept a flash of vivid--I had almost said vicious--annoyance. “You’re not going before the drawing-room at Buckingham Palace!” cried she. “I’ll have to,” said I. “But you can’t!” protested Margot, tears of vexation in her eyes. “Everyone will think it’s dreadfully queer.” “Don’t fret about that, my dear,” replied I lightly. “I know how it is over here. So long as you’ve got the cash they’ll never ask a question. We Americans mean money to them--and that’s all.” “Oh, papa!” cried Margot. “Don’t put such ideas into the child’s head, Godfrey,” said my wife, restraining herself in a most ladylike manner. “She knows,” said I. “So do you. Money is everything with aristocracies everywhere. They must live luxuriously without work. That can’t be done without money--lots of money. So aristocrats seriously think of nothing else, whatever they may talk.” “You’ll have a better opinion of them when you know them,” said Edna, once more serene and sweetly friendly. “I don’t think badly of them,” I replied. “I admire their cleverness. But you mustn’t ask me to respect them. They hardly expect it. They don’t respect themselves. If they did, they’d not be stealing, but working.” Margot listened with lowered eyes. I saw that she was ashamed of and for me. Edna concealed her feelings better. She forced an amiable smile. “I don’t know much about these things,” she said politely. “But, Godfrey, you mustn’t desert us, at least not until after the drawing-room. I’ve told our ambassador you’re to be here, and he has gone to no end of trouble to arrange for you.” “Howard?” said I. “That pup! I despise him. He’s a rotten old snob. They tell me his toadyism turns the stomach of even the English. He’s a disgrace to our country. But I suppose he’s little if any worse than most of our ambassadors over here. They’ve all bought their jobs to gratify their own and their wives’ taste for shoe polish.”