There I stayed, and I wrote to my friend, describing the hotel, and the people in the hotel, and how Robert Hichens was worshipped by the directors thereof, and how they fell down before effigies of the authoress of _The Sheik_, as well they might, for who knows how many people would not go to Algeria but for _The Garden of Allah_ and _The Sheik_. In particular I described an amiable gentleman, and how he looked exactly like Lord Beaverbrook might have looked if he hadn’t made so much money all by himself, a sort of rugged grandeur being spread over features not otherwise remarkable; and then I went on to say that of course there was the usual hotel Pretty Girl, and very pretty she was too. “I do not know her yet,” I wrote, “and I probably never will, for they tell me--the barman tells me--that she and her mother are inclined to be rather exclusive and do not mix with the other guests. Be that as it may, the girl is extraordinarily pretty in a slim, fascinating way which is quite indescribable. She must be very young, for I notice that it’s only with difficulty that she manages to repress a giggle at things her mother says, which is really very nice of her, don’t you think? On the other hand she dresses so amazingly well, really well, I mean, no home-made stuff, that she simply can’t be under twenty--unless, of course, her mother chooses her clothes for her, but I am rather inclined to doubt that, her mother’s clothes being excessively county and therefore not remarkable for _chic_....” and so on and so on in a friendly way about this and that. When next I wrote to Ralph Trevor, which was not before I had to, he having written to me several times about one thing and another, I mentioned that I had, so to speak, put the lid on the exclusive business as regards the hotel Pretty Girl and her agreeable parent. “Her name is Consuelo Brown,” I wrote, “and they live not far from Leicester. If you ask me how in the world a girl who lives not far from Leicester comes to be called Consuelo, I will tell you that it is because her mother has always admired that beautiful lady who was Miss Consuelo Vanderbilt; but I am only surmising that for your benefit, for Mrs. Brown has not as yet told me the true facts of the matter. Miss Brown is English and American in equal parts, her late father having been an American Admiral. If he was anything like his daughter he must have been a very pretty Admiral.