"Yes, as you have an aunt," I repeated.
"She'd make an ideal chaperon for young ladies," hastily went on the Southerner. "I should like you to meet her."
"Is Lady MacNairne in Rotterdam?" asked Phil.
"Not exactly; but she's coming—almost at once."
"We don't know your name yet," said Phyllis. "I'm Miss Rivers; my stepsister is Miss Van Buren. Perhaps you'd better introduce yourself."
"I shall be glad to," returned my countryman. "My name is Ronald Lester Starr——"
"Why, the initials are just right—R. L. S." I murmured.
"I know what you mean," he said, with a nice smile. "They say I look like him. I'm very proud. You'll think I ought to be a writer; but I'm not. I paint a little—just enough to call myself an artist——"
"Oh, I remember," I broke in. "I thought the name sounded familiar. You had a picture in the Salon this spring."
He looked anxious. "Did you see it?"