imperturbably on a cushion in the middle of the floor after dinner
and sang to a guitar the songs of Albert Chevalier, was an anomaly
in English decorum that was as pleasing to observe as it was amusing
to criticize.

The Americans she met delighted in drawing her out--it was a pastime
that took the lead at dinner-parties, to an extent which her hostess
often thought preposterous--and she responded with naivete and
vigour, perfectly aware that she was scoring all along the line.
Upon many charming people she made the impression that she was a
type of the most finished class of what they called 'English society
girls,' that she represented the best they could do over there in
this direction. As a matter of fact she might have sat to any of
those 'black and white' artists, who draw townish young women of
London, saying cynical things to young men in the weekly papers.
That was her type, and if you look for her picture there, you will
see that her face was very accurately oval, with eyes that knew
their value, and other features that didn't very much matter, except
in so far as they expressed a very full conception of the
satisfactions of this life, and a wide philosophy as to methods of
obtaining them.

Frederick Prendergast was unacquainted with the popular pictures I
have mentioned, having a very reasonable preference for the
illustrated papers of his own country; otherwise--there is no
telling--he might have observed the resemblance and escaped the
State prison, whither he assuredly never would have gone had he
married Madeline Anderson--as he fully intended to do when Miss
Forde came over. He was worth at that time a great deal of money,
besides being more personable than any one would have believed who