he American officers
and nurses who had won British honours during the war. It was held at
Belmont House, and was a ceremony full of colour. Members of all the
diplomatic corps in Washington in their various uniforms attended, and
these were grouped in the beautiful ballroom full of splendid pictures
and wonderful china. The simplicity of the investiture itself stood
out against the colourful setting as generals in khaki, admirals in
blue, the rank and file of both services, and the neat and picturesque
Red Cross nurses came quietly across the polished floor to receive
their decorations and a comradely hand-clasp from the Prince.

It was after lunch that the Prince motored out to Mount Vernon, the
home and burial-place of Washington, to pay his tribute to the great
leader of the first days of America. It is a serene and beautiful old
house, built in the colonial style, with a pillared verandah along its
front. The visit here was of the simplest kind.

At the modest tomb of the great general and statesman, which is near
the house, the Prince in silence deposited a wreath, and a little
distance away he also planted a cedar to commemorate his visit. He
showed his usual keen curiosity in the house, whose homely rooms of
mellow colonial furniture seemed as though they might be filled at any
moment with gentlemen in hessians and brave coats, whose hair was in
queues and whose accents would be loud and rich in condemnation of the
interference of the Court Circle overseas.

Showing interest in the historic details of the house, the picture of
his grandfather abruptly filled him with anxiety. He looked at the
picture and asked if "Baron Renfrew" (King Edward) had worn a top hat
on _his_ visit, and from his nervousness it seemed that he felt that
his own soft felt hat was not quite the thing. He was reassured,
however, on this point, for democracy has altered many things since the
old days, including hats.

Both on his way out, and his return journey, the Prince was the object
of enthusiasm from small groups who recognized him, most of whom had
trusted to luck or their intuition for their chance of seeing him.
About the entrance of the White House, to which he drove, there was a
small and ardent crowd, which cheered him when he swept through the
gates with his motor-cycle escort, and bought photographs of him from
hawkers when he had passed. The hawker, in fact, did a brisk trade.

There had been much speculation wh