"A cup of coffee for Lady Vincent in one minute, ready or not ready!" was the somewhat unreasonable command of the judge.
Jim disappeared to deliver all his master's orders.
And it seemed that the coffee was ready, for he almost immediately reappeared bearing a tray with the service arranged upon it.
"Is it strong, Jim?" inquired Claudia, as she raised the cup to her lips.
"Yes, miss—ma'am—my ladyship, I mean!" said poor Jim, who was excessively bothered by Claudia's new title and the changes that were rung upon it.
The coffee must have been strong, to judge by its effects upon
Claudia.
"Take it away," she said, after having drunk two cupfuls. "Papa, I feel better; and while Ruth is unpacking my clothes I may just as well sit here and tell you why, if indeed I really know why, I am here alone. We were at Niagara, where we had intended to remain throughout this month of September. All the world seemed to know where we were and how long we intended to stay; for you are aware how absurdly we democratic and republican Americans worship rank and title; and how certain our reporters would be to chronicle the movements of Lord and Lady Vincent," said Claudia, with that air of world-scorn and self-scorn in which she often indulged.
"Well, Lady Vincent cannot consistently find fault with that," said the judge, with a covert smile.
"Because Lady Vincent shares the folly or has shared it," said Claudia; "but Lord Vincent did find fault with it; great fault—much greater fault than was necessary, I thought, and grumbled incessantly at our custom of registering names at the hotels, and at 'American snobbery and impertinence' generally."
"Bless his impudence! Who sent for him?"