ountries have
different traditions----"

"I've no use for traditions," was the uncompromising rejoinder. "It
seems to me that in this country every one's out to try and prevent
every one else from knowing what they're thinking. I've a rare picnic
to find out what Sir Lyster's thinking when I'm talking to him." He
bit savagely into the end of his cigar, when turning suddenly to Mrs.
West he said, "Here, will you and your daughter come and have some tea
with me? I suppose we can get tea around here?" he enquired,
apparently of the surrounding landscape.

"It's very kind of you, Mr. Dene," said Mrs. West sweetly. "We should
be delighted, shouldn't we, Dorothy?"

"Yes, mother," said Dorothy without enthusiasm.

John Dene turned suddenly and looked at her. Again he smiled.

"Why, I hadn't thought of that," he said.

"Thought of what?" she asked.

"Why, you see enough of me all the week without my butting in on your
holidays."

"Oh, Mr. Dene!" cried Dorothy reproachfully, "how can you be so unkind?
Now we shall insist upon your taking us to tea, won't we, mother?"

Mrs. West smiled up at John Dene who had risen. "I'm afraid we can't
let you off now, Mr. Dene," she said sweetly.

"Well, I take it, I shan't be tugging at the halter," he said, as they
walked towards where the pagoda reared its slim, un-English body above
the trees.

Having found a table and ordered tea, John Dene looked about him
appreciatively.

"We haven't got anything like this in T'ronto," he repeated, as if
anxious to give full justice to the old country for at least one unique
feature.

"Thank you for that tribute," said Dorothy demurely.

"But it's true," said John Dene, turning to her.

"But you don't always say a thing just because it's true, do you?" she
enquired.

"Sure," was the uncompromising response.

"But," continued Dorothy, "suppose one day I was looking very plain and
unattractive, would you tell me of it?"

"You couldn't."

This was said with such an air of conviction that Dorothy felt her
cheeks burn, and she lowered her eyes. John Dene, she decided, could
be extremely embarrassing. His conversation seemed to consist of
one-pound notes: he had no small change.

For some time she remained silent, again leaving the conversation to
John Dene and her mother. He was telling her something of his early
struggles and adventures, first in Canada, then in America and finally
in Canada again. How he had lost both