"It's American," I returned, "for thinking yourself better than
anybody else!"

"Fancy!" she said, and then with a beautiful smile she took my
hand and rubbed it against the hound's muzzle.

"You mustn't growl at him, Olaf," she said. "He's a ffrench; he's
one of us; and he has come from over the sea to make friends."

"You can't turn me out of the park after that," I said, in spite
of a very dubious lick from the noble animal, who, possibly
because he couldn't read and hadn't seen my card, was still a prey
to suspicion.

"I am going to take you back to the castle myself," she said, "and
we'll spend the day going all over it, and I shall introduce you
to my father--Sir Fyles--when he returns at five from Ascot."

"I could ask for nothing better," I said, "though I don't want to
make myself a burden to you. And then," I went on, a little
uncertain how best to express myself, "you are so queer in England
about--about----"

"Proprieties," she said, giving the word which I hesitated to use.
"Oh, yes! I suppose I oughtn't to; indeed, it's awful, and
there'll be lunch too, Fyles, which makes it twice as bad. But to-
day I'm going to be American and do just what I like."

"I thought I ought to mention it," I said.