quite a number of languages of such matters as the opera, a new book,
or an old picture, and would then relapse again into a sort of waiting
silence. At thirty-five it is perhaps not well to wait too patiently
for those things that make a woman's life worth living. Mrs. Vansittart
had not the air, however, of one who would wait indefinitely.

When Mr. Percy Roden arrived at the hotel, he was assigned, at the hour
of _table d'hote_, a small table between those occupied respectively by
Mrs. Vansittart and the secretary of the Belgian Embassy. Some subtle
sense conveyed to Percy Roden that he had aroused Mrs. Vansittart's
interest--the sense called vanity, perhaps, which conveys so much to
young men, and so much that is erroneous. On the second evening,
therefore, when he had returned from a busy day in the neighbourhood of
Scheveningen, Roden half looked for the bow which was half accorded to
him. That evening Mrs. Vansittart spoke to the waiter in English, which
was obviously her native language, and Roden overheard. After dinner
Mrs. Vansittart lingered in the _salon_ and a woman, had such been
present, would have perceived that she made it easy for Roden to pause
in passing and offer her his English newspaper, which had arrived by
the evening post. The subtle is so often the obvious that to be
unobservant is a social duty.

"Thank you," she replied. "I like newspapers. Although I have not been
in England for years, I still take an interest in the affairs of my
country."

Her manner was easy and natural, without that taint of a too sudden
familiarity which is characteristic of the present generation. We are
apt to allow ourselves to feel too much at home.