found so entertaining. It may be freely mentioned, however, that whenever,
after a round of visits in Bond Street and Regent Street, she was
about to return with her sister to Jones's Hotel, she made an earnest
request that they should be driven home by way of Westminster Abbey.
She had begun by asking whether it would not be possible to take the Tower
on the way to their lodgings; but it happened that at a more primitive stage
of her culture Mrs. Westgate had paid a visit to this venerable monument,
which she spoke of ever afterward vaguely as a dreadful disappointment;
so that she expressed the liveliest disapproval of any attempt to combine
historical researches with the purchase of hairbrushes and notepaper.
The most she would consent to do in this line was to spend half
an hour at Madame Tussaud's, where she saw several dusty wax effigies
of members of the royal family. She told Bessie that if she
wished to go to the Tower she must get someone else to take her.
Bessie expressed hereupon an earnest disposition to go alone; but upon
this proposal as well Mrs. Westgate sprinkled cold water.

"Remember," she said, "that you are not in your innocent little Boston.
It is not a question of walking up and down Beacon Street."
Then she went on to explain that there were two classes of American
girls in Europe--those that walked about alone and those that did not.
"You happen to belong, my dear," she said to her sister, "to the class
that does not."

"It is only," answered Bessie, laughing, "because you happen to prevent me."
And she devoted much private meditation to this question of effecting a visit
to the Tower of London.

Suddenly it seemed as if the problem might be solved; the two
ladies at Jones's Hotel received a visit from Willie Woodley.