disgrace the name of an Englishman.'

'Now, that's noble!' cried the girl. 'And I'm sure you never will. Of
an English gentleman, Evan. I like that better.'

'Would your rather be called a true English lady than a true English
woman, Rose?'

'Don't think I would, my dear,' she answered, pertly; 'but "gentleman"
always means more than "man" to me.'

'And what's a gentleman, mademoiselle?'

'Can't tell you, Don Doloroso. Something you are, sir,' she added,
surveying him.

Evan sucked the bitter and the sweet of her explanation. His sister in
her anxiety to put him on his guard, had not beguiled him to forget his
real state.

His sister, the diplomatist and his lady, the refugee Count, with ladies'
maids, servants, and luggage, were now on the main-deck, and Master Alec,
who was as good as a newspaper correspondent for private conversations,
put an end to the colloquy of the young people. They were all assembled
in a circle when the vessel came to her moorings. The diplomatist
glutted with news, and thirsting for confirmations; the Count dumb,
courteous, and quick-eyed; the honourable lady complacent in the
consciousness of boxes well packed; the Countess breathing mellifluous
long-drawn adieux that should provoke invitations. Evan and Rose
regarded each other.