most years, but I've
only been twice to England. I did all the sights, though, didn't miss
anything. I gave four days to London alone. Candidly, I don't think
your women dress nearly as well as we do, or hold themselves as well,
but perhaps you're more _feminine_ looking, take you all in all. I
don't mean anything _personal_, of course. But I _do_ think your men
are lovely. I met a perfectly charming Member of Parliament, and he
invited me to tea on the terrace. Such strawberries and cream. But I'm
afraid I hurt his feelings. I said I couldn't help thinking 'House of
Commons' a most insulting name, and if we called our Senate anything
like that we couldn't get an American man who respected himself to go
into it. But English people are so queer. They don't seem to mind
admitting that there is a class above theirs."

"Betty doesn't need to know anything about that," said Mrs. Ess Kay.
"She is on the highest pinnacle."

"Oh, dear no," said I. "There are the Royalties."

"Don't you think you are just as _good_?" asked Mrs. Taylour.

"I never thought about it in that way," I answered, stupidly. For of
course I hadn't.

"Surely you don't bob to them?"

"Indeed we do," I protested.

"Well then, I _wouldn't_," said Mrs. Taylour, firmly. "I'd have my head
cut off first, especially before I'd curtsey to a Man."

Quite a colour flew into her face as she asserted her independence, and
Mrs. Ess Kay must have seen that the invalid was getting excited, for
she rose quickly to go.

"Come, Betty," said she, and I came.

The lift plunged us down through the inner workings of the skeleton. I
had the sensation that it was dropping away from under my feet, and
that as I dangled above it like a wobbly little balloon my head had
been left behind somewhere near the top. But I didn't leave my heart
behind in Mrs. Taylour's flat.

VIII

ABOUT NEWPORT AND GORGEOUSNESS

I was anxious to travel in an American train, so Mrs. Ess Kay said we
might go by rail to Newport, instead of by boat as she had intended.

I know it was very wrong in principle, but when we got to the Grand
Central Station, (or Depot, as perhaps I ought to call it,) I did wish
that slavery existed again, so that I could have bought two or three of
those delightful _cafe-au-lait_-coloured porters in grey livery and red
caps. There were several I would have given anything to have to take
home with me, and make pets of; but I suppose even if they had been f