CHAPTER III

That evening at dinner Felix Young gave his sister, the Baroness
Munster, an account of his impressions. She saw that he had come back in
the highest possible spirits; but this fact, to her own mind, was not a
reason for rejoicing. She had but a limited confidence in her brother's
judgment; his capacity for taking rose-colored views was such as to
vulgarize one of the prettiest of tints. Still, she supposed he could
be trusted to give her the mere facts; and she invited him with some
eagerness to communicate them. "I suppose, at least, they did n't turn
you out from the door;" she said. "You have been away some ten hours."

"Turn me from the door!" Felix exclaimed. "They took me to their hearts;
they killed the fatted calf."

"I know what you want to say: they are a collection of angels."

"Exactly," said Felix. "They are a collection of angels--simply."

"C'est bien vague," remarked the Baroness. "What are they like?"

"Like nothing you ever saw."

"I am sure I am much obliged; but that is hardly more definite.
Seriously, they were glad to see you?"

"Enchanted. It has been the proudest day of my life. Never, never have I
been so lionized! I assure you, I was cock of the walk. My dear sister,"
said the young man, "nous n'avons qu'a nous tenir; we shall be great