self one of the galaxy of beauty and
talent that was going to make a thorough examination of you girls'
things."

"Oh, were you?" I said lamely. I couldn't think what else to say. Too
many things had been happening all day long!

I said: "Miss Million didn't know you were coming?

"Why, no! I guess she didn't suspect my existence, any more than I
suspected hers until a few weeks ago," said Miss Million's cousin. (At
last I found myself believing that he really was her cousin after all.)
"Horrible shock to me, I can tell you, that my Uncle Sam was cherishing
the thought of this little English niece of his all this time! Making up
his mind to leave his pile to this girl. Meantime Hiram P. Jessop," here
he tapped the grey-tweed jacket again, "had been looking upon himself as
the heir-apparent!"

"Oh! You thought all that money was coming to you?" I said, half-amused,
half-pityingly, for this was certainly the frankest, most boyish sort of
young man I'd ever come across. "And you've lost it all on account of my
mistress?"

"Say, doesn't that sound the queerest ever? A daisy little girl like you
talking about some other girl as her 'mistress'!" rejoined my companion
in a wondering tone. "Why, d'you know? When I saw you standing there in
the sitting-room, in your black dress and that cute little apron and
cap, I said to myself: 'If this isn't the image of some Society girl of
the English upper class playing the Pretty Domestic part in some private
theatricals where they rush you a quarter's salary, I guess, for half a
look and a programme!' I said, if you'll pardon me: 'It's just the
accent, just the look, just the manner.'"

"Oh!" I said, rather vexed.

I was annoyed that he should think there was any trace of "acting"
about my appearance. I thought I'd had the art that conceals Art. I
thought I'd come to look such an irreproachable lady's-maid.

"Just typically the English Young Lady of the Upper Classes," pronounced
this surprising young American, meditatively walking along by my side on
the asphalt paths of the Embankment Gardens. "As typical as the
Westminster Abbey, or those tea-shops.... Real sweet-looking, real
refined-looking, if I may say so. But cold! Cold and stiff! 'Do not dare
to approach me, for all my family were here dying of old age when
William the Conqueror landed on these shores.' That's the way you'd
impress one, Miss Smith. 'Look through my trunks?'" Here he adopted an
extraordinary voice that