This speech so depressed the ladies that their last remnant of vivacity fled, not to return. You are sympathizing with them, gentle reader, and they are welcome to your sympathy. We drove in silence the rest of the way to the hotel in Piccadilly, where they were installed in pompous luxury and had made equally luxurious provision for me. When I was alone with my valet I reasoned myself out of the grouchy mood into which the evidences of my family’s fresh access of folly had thrown me. To quarrel with them, to be irritated against them, was about as unreasonable as attacking a black man for not being white. I had long since realized, as the result of much experience and reflection, that character is no more to be changed than any other inborn quality. My wife had been born an aristocrat, and had brought into the world an aristocratic daughter. She was to be blamed neither for the one thing nor for the other. And it ill became my pretensions to superior intellect to gird at her and at Margot. The thing for me to do was to let them alone--keep away. At dinner, which was served in our apartment, I took a different tone with them, and they met me more than half way. So cheered was my lovely daughter that after dinner she perched on the arm of my chair and ventured to bring up the dangerous subject. Said she: “You’re not going to be mean to me and run away, are you, papa?” Looking at Edna, but addressing Margot, I replied: “Your mother will tell you that it’s best. We three never can agree in our ideas of things. I’m an irritation. I spoil your pleasure.” “No--no, indeed!” cried the girl. “I’ve been looking forward to your coming. I’ve been telling everybody how handsome and superior you are. And I want them to see for themselves.” Most pleasant to hear from such rare prettiness, and most sincerely spoken. “So many of the American men in society over here are common,” proceeded she, “and even those who aren’t so very common somehow seem so. They are down on their knees before titles, and they act--like servants. Even Mr. Howard-- He oughtn’t to show his feelings so plainly. Of course we all feel impressed and honored by being taken up by real titled people of old families, but it’s such bad form to show, and it interferes with getting on. When I’m talking to Lord Crossley about that drawing-room, I act as if it were nothing.” “I see you are being well educated,” said I, laughing. “Oh, yes. Mamma and I have worked. We’ve not had an idle moment.” “I believe you,” said I. “You _will_ stay, papa--won’t you?” I shook my head. But it was no longer the positive gesture. My besetting sin, my good nature, had possession of me. Remember, it was after dinner, and my beautiful daughter was caressing my cheek and was pleading in a voice whose modulations had been cultivated by the best masters in Paris. “But I don’t want people to think I was deceiving them about my papa.”