I suppose was intended for an imitation of my
own tones.

Then he pulled himself up and said gravely: "You'll pardon me if I'm too
frank. But I'm always outspoken. It's my nature. I'm interested in
types. I was interested in yours. Noo to me. Quite noo. The young lady
that looks as if she ought to be standing to have her portrait painted
on the grey-stone steps of some big English country house--the young
lady that turns out to be paid maid to my own cousin! A noo thing."

"Really!" I said gravely. I couldn't help feeling amused at his puzzled
face.

We turned again down the asphalt path between the flower-beds of those
gardens that are overshadowed by the big hotel. On a bench I caught
sight again of the quiet figure that I had noticed on the other side of
the Strand. It was the Scotland Yard man. He seemed to be reading an
evening paper. But I felt that he was watching, watching....

I didn't mind; even if he did think he was watching some one who knew
what had become of the Rattheimer ruby! I felt something comforting and
trustworthy in the presence of this other young man; this peculiar
cousin of Million's, from whom one heard, quite unresentfully, remarks
that one would not forgive in an Englishman, for instance Mr. Brace. Not
that Mr. Brace would ever venture on such personalities ... the
Honourable Jim now.... Yes, but he's a Celt. A Celt is a person who
takes, but cannot give, offence. Most unfair, of course.

The American pursued: "And this cousin of mine? There's another type I
shall be interested to see. Tell me about her, Miss Smith, will you?
Have you known her long?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "It's some years since I've known Miss Million."

"And well, considering the difference in your positions, that is?"

"Oh, yes, fairly well," I said, thinking of the many artless confidences
I'd listened to from Miss Million--then "Million," of our disgracefully
inconvenient little kitchen at Putney. Those far-away days seemed very
pleasant and peaceful to me to-night! But they--those kitchen days--were
no part of the business of the young man at my side.

"D'you get on with her?" he said.

"Oh, yes, thank you."

"You don't tell me much. It's this English reserve I'm always up
against. It's a thing you'd need an ice-axe for, I guess, or a hundred
years with your families living in the same village," complained the
young American, laughing ruefully.

"Were you two girls raised together? School together?"