"As a man, yes," returned Marguerite. "As an author, however, I
think he is open to criticism. He is not always true to the real.
Look at Lord Barncastle, in his study of English manners!
Barncastle, as he drew him, was nothing but a New York society man
with a title, living in England. That is to say, he talked like an
American, thought like one--there was no point of difference between
them."

"And why should there be?" asked Mrs. Corwin. "If a New York society
man is generally a weak imitation of an English peer--and no one has
ever denied that such is the case--why shouldn't an English peer be
represented as a sort of intensified New York society man?"

"Besides," said Miss Andrews, ignoring Mrs. Corwin's point, "I don't
care to be presented too really to the reading public, especially on
board a ship. I never yet knew a woman who looked well the second
day out, and if I were to be presented as I always am the second day
out, I should die of mortification. My hair goes out of curl, my
face is the color of an unripe peach, and if I do go up on deck it is
because I am so thoroughly miserable that I do not care who sees me
or what the world thinks of me. I think it is very inconsiderate of
Mr. Harley to open his story on an ocean steamer; and, what is more,
I don't like the American line. Too many Americans of the brass-band
type travel on it. Stuart Harley said so himself in his last book of
foreign travel; but he sends me out on it just the same, and expects
me to be satisfied. Perhaps he thinks I like that sort of American.
If he does, he's got more imagination than he ever showed in his
books."

"You must get to the other side in some way," said Mrs. Corwin. "It