and he saw that in her hand she carried a copy of the Daily Mail.

West's waiter was a master of the art of suggesting that no table
in the room was worth sitting at save that at which he held ready
a chair. Thus he lured the girl and her companion to repose not
five feet from where West sat. This accomplished, he whipped out
his order book, and stood with pencil poised, like a reporter in
an American play.

"The strawberries are delicious," he said in honeyed tones.

The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes.

"Not for me, dad," she said. "I hate them! Grapefruit, please."

As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him. He spoke in loud
defiant tones.

"Another plate of the strawberries!" he commanded. "They are
better than ever to-day."

For a second, as though he were part of the scenery, those violet
eyes met his with a casual impersonal glance. Then their owner
slowly spread out her own copy of the Mail.

"What's the news?" asked the statesman, drinking deep from his
glass of water.

"Don't ask me," the girl answered, without looking up. "I've found
something more entertaining than news. Do you know--the English