Do you remember on shipboard a Miss Madden--an American,
you know--very tall and fine, with bright red hair--rather
remarkable hair it was?"

"I remember the lady," said Thorpe, upon reflection,
"but we didn't meet." He could not wholly divest his tone
of the hint that in those days it by no means followed
that because he saw ladies it was open to him to know them.

Lord Plowden smiled a little. "Oh, you'll like her.
She's great fun--if she's in the mood. My mother and sister--I
had them call on her in London last spring--and they took
a great fancy to her. She's got no end of money, you know--at
least a million and a half--dollars, unfortunately.
Her parents were Irish--her father made his pile in the
waggon business, I believe--but she's as American as if
they'd crossed over in--what was it, the 'Sunflower'?--no,
the 'Mayflower.' Marvelous country for assimilation,
that America is! You remember what I told you--it's put
such a mark on you that I should never have dreamt you were English."

Thorpe observed his companion, through a blue haze of smoke,
in silence. This insistence upon the un-English nature
of the effect he produced was not altogether grateful
to his ears.

"The other one," continued Plowden, "is Lady Cressage.
You'll be interested in her--because a few years ago she
was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in London.
She married a shocking bounder--he would have been