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In the meantime they were taking him home to educate him in the duties of American citizenship. Emmeline put it to me briefly, "I'm not any Daisy Miller," she said, "and I prefer to live out of Rome." Once a year the present Lady Mafferton invites Mrs. Portheris to tea, and I know they discuss my theory of engagements in a critical spirit.

Portheris declared that she already felt the preliminary ache of influenza. She exhorted us to copious draughts, but it was much too nasty for more than a sip, though warming to a degree. "Better take very little at a time," Dicky suggested, but Mrs. Portheris reaffirmed her faith in the virtues of eucalyptus, and with such majesty as was compatible with the neck of the bottle, drank deeply.

"Come along, ladies and gentlemen," said Emmeline, "and see the great big old Schaffhausen Fraud. Performance begins at nine o'clock exactly, and no reserve seats, so unless you want to get left, Mrs. Portheris, you'd better put a hustle on." Miss Malt had gone through several processes of annihilation at Mrs.

Portheris, and her tone indicated that I had probably narrowly escaped it. We were rather a large party as we made our way to the elevator, and I found myself behind the others in conversation with Dicky Dod. It was a happiness to come thus unexpectedly upon Dicky Dod he gave forth all that is most exhilarating in our democratic civilisation, and he was in excellent spirits.

In the instant of ominous silence which occurred while Mrs. Portheris was getting her chin into the angle of its greatest majesty, Mr. Mafferton considerately walked to the door. When it was accomplished she looked at momma sideways and down her nose, precisely in the manner of the late Mr. Du Maurier's ladies in Punch, in the same state of mind. She might have sat or stood to him.

I glanced in the direction of the other two. "They seem desperately bored with each other," I said. "They are not saying anything. Shall we join them?" "Dod is probably sulking because I am monopolising you. Mrs. Portheris, you see, has let me into the secret" Mr. Mafferton looked very arch "By all means, if you think he ought to be humoured."

"Why was an old maid ever born!" "She never was," I couldn't help saying, but I might as well not have said it. Dicky was rapidly formulating his plan of action. "I'll tell her straight out, after dinner," he concluded, "and her mother, too, if I get a chance." "Do you know what will happen?" I asked. "You never know what will happen," replied Dicky, blushing. "Mrs. and Miss Portheris and Mr.

"And your dear father and mother," went on Mrs. Portheris, "I am longing to hear their experiences since we parted. Where are you? The Colomba? Why what a coincidence! We are there, too! How small the world is!" "Then you have only just arrived," said Mr. Dod to Miss Portheris, who had turned away her head, and was regarding the distant mountains. "Yes." "By the 11.30 p.m.?" "No. By the 2.30 p.m."

We were Americans and she was Mrs. Portheris of Half Moon-street, Piccadilly. I saw that she recognised me and was trying to make up her mind whether, in view of the complication of Mr. Dod, to bow or not. But the woman who hesitates is lost, even though she be a British matron of massive prejudices and a figure to match. In Mrs.

Dod, though on the eve of his wedding day, was not wholly oblivious of the love affairs of other people. I could see a new-born and overwhelming comprehension of the situation in his face as he put his head in at the door and beckoned to Isabel. Evidently he could not trust himself to speak. "Miss Portheris," he said, with magnificent self-control, "Mr. Mr. We have still five minutes."