"I'm an Amurrican," she announced. "Mr and Mrs Hilliard had an introduction to my people when they visited the States, and when I came over to Europe they invited me here. I'm proud to death of being an Amurrican; that's of course! But there's something else. You might as well know it first as last." She straightened herself and drew a fluttering breath. "I'm in trade! I'm Ward's Unrivalled Piquant Pickles!" "Wh-what?" Pixie stammered in confusion, as well she might, for the announcement was unusual, to say the least of it. "Pickles! Cauliflower, and cabbage, and little snippets of vegetables floating in piquant sauce, in fat, square bottles. I make them in my factory. If you went over to the States you'd see my placards on every wall, and inside magazines, and on the back sheets of newspapers--a big, fat man eating a plate of cold meat with Ward's unrivalled piquants by his side. They used to be my father's: now they're mine. _I_ am the Unrivalled Piquant Pickles. I run the factory. The profits grow more e-normous every year. There's no other partners in it, only Me!" If at the beginning of her speech the speaker had made an affectation of humility, she certainly ended on a note of pride, and Pixie's admiration was transparently evident. "Think of that now! A whole factory, and pickles, too! I adore pickles, especially the fat, cauliflowery bits. And to see one's own name on the hoardings! I'd be so proud!" "Honest Injun, you would? You don't feel proud and lofty because I'm in trade, and had a grandfather who couldn't read, while _your_ ancestors have been grandees for centuries? Many English people _do_, you know. They have a way of looking at me as if I were a hundred miles away, and stunted at that. And others who _do_ receive me don't trouble to hide that it's for the sake of the dollars. A girl likes to be cared for for _herself_: she wants people should judge her by what she _is_. It's a big handicap, Pat-ricia, to be too rich." "I'll take your word for it, me dear, having no experience," said Pixie graciously; "but I'd like to be tried. As for caring--no one could help it. I do already, and I've only known you three hours, and Esmeralda said you were nice enough to be Irish, and it isn't the easiest thing in the world to please _her_ fancy." "She's a beautiful princess. She's been real sweet to me over here. I'm crazy about her!" Honor affirmed in the slow, dragging voice which went so quaintly with her exaggerated language. "But one Mrs Hilliard don't make a world. You've got to be just as good to me as you know how, Pat-ricia, for I've got no one belonging to me on this side nearer than an elderly cousin, twice removed, and it's a lonesome feeling.