have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of
course, language. Her eldest son, christened Washington by his
parents in a moment of patriotism, which he never ceased to regret,
was a fair-haired, rather good-looking young man, who had qualified
himself for American diplomacy by leading the German at the Newport
Casino for three successive seasons, and even in London was well
known as an excellent dancer. Gardenias and the peerage were his
only weaknesses. Otherwise he was extremely sensible. Miss
Virginia E. Otis was a little girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a
fawn, and with a fine freedom in her large blue eyes. She was a
wonderful amazon, and had once raced old Lord Bilton on her pony
twice round the park, winning by a length and a half, just in front
of the Achilles statue, to the huge delight of the young Duke of
Cheshire, who proposed for her on the spot, and was sent back to
Eton that very night by his guardians, in floods of tears. After
Virginia came the twins, who were usually called 'The Stars and
Stripes,' as they were always getting swished. They were delightful
boys, and with the exception of the worthy Minister the only true
republicans of the family.

As Canterville Chase is seven miles from Ascot, the nearest railway
station, Mr. Otis had telegraphed for a waggonette to meet them, and
they started on their drive in high spirits. It was a lovely July
evening, and the air was delicate with the scent of the pine-woods.
Now and then they heard a wood pigeon brooding over its own sweet
voice, or saw, deep in the rustling fern, the burnished breast of
the pheasant. Little squirrels peered at them from the beech-trees
as they went by, and the rabbits scudded away through the brushwood
and over the mossy knolls, with their white tails in the air. As
they entered the avenue of Canterville Chase, however, the sky