“It’s not polite to criticise your relations, but I may be excused, as she is my countrywoman first. I have been carefully brought up, and I never before met that sort of American. Of course the Middle West is very new, and it is hardly fair to criticise it, but I should think twenty years or so of England would have done something more than remove her accent.”
Cecil smiled. “American women are so popular in England that I fancy they grow more and more American as the years go by. I don’t know much about it.”
“It is rather odd having to stand just behind a stepmother whom I shouldn’t think of knowing at home.”
“Of course there are no distinctions in regard to Americans over here; it is all personality and money. Emmy hasn’t much of the first in a large sense, but she knows how to make herself popular. People find her likeable and amusing—even the women, because, of course, she is so different from themselves; and she is really the best-hearted little creature in the world. I see you don’t like her, but wait a little; perhaps she was nervous to-day.”
“I am not going to be so commonplace as to quarrel with my mother-in-law, but I certainly shall not like her. As you would say, she is not my own sort.”
“Neither am I,” said Cecil laughing, “but you like me.”
“We represent the fusion of the two greatest nations on earth. Why do not you tell me that I am looking particularly well?”
They were traversing one of the long corridors. Cecil glanced uneasily about, then put his arm round her and kissed her.
“I am doing my best to live up to the American standard, and tell you once a day how much I love you, and how beautiful you are. When do you think you will take it for granted?”
“Never! never! Are you proud of me to-night?”