“Oh, they’re different here,” explained the daughter, with nonchalance. “They talk quite openly over here of lots of things which we never dream of mentioning. You remember that lady in front of us at the theatre last night—when the men in their dress suits came over to talk with her between the acts—how she told them right out, that although it was so hot she had to fan herself all the while, still her legs felt quite shivery. Now, a speech like that would stand Louisville on its head, let alone Paris, Kentucky, but here it passes without the slightest notice. It’s the custom of the country. I rather like it myself.”
Mr. Skinner sighed, and pecked timorously at his egg with a spoon. “I am not wanting, I trust, in tolerance for the natural divergences of habit and manner which distinguish the widely-separated branches of the Anglo-Saxon race, or in a desire to accommodate myself to their peculiarities when I confront them in the course of foreign travel; but I with difficulty bring myself to contemplate with satisfaction the method of partaking of a soft-boiled egg which obtains favour in these islands. To my mind, the negation of the principle of a centre of gravity involved in the construction of this egg cup, combined with the objectionably inadequate dimensions of the spoon——”
“Dig it out on to your plate, then; the waiter won’t come in again till I ring,” suggested the daughter.
“I prefer the alternative of abstention,” he answered. “The spectacle of stains upon the cloth or upon the plate would be equally suggestive to the servant’s scrutiny.”
He rose as he spoke. Adele, gathering up the letters, did likewise, and rang the bell.
Mr. Skinner, having glanced out at the river panorama from the balcony window for a little, and then looked over the market columns of a newspaper, turned again to his daughter.
“I gather that we are to accept the invitation of the Earl of Drumpipes,” he remarked, tentatively.
Adele nodded. “Why, of course,” she said; “that’s to be the formal beginning of everything. It is intended to make our position here perfectly regular. Lord Drumpipes is the head of Mr. Linkhaw’s family. It is entirely becoming that he should take the initiative in recognising us.”
“Ah yes, in recognising us,” he repeated. “I suppose, Adele, it would be futile for me to recur to the question whether you have sufficiently weighed the opposing considerations with regard to Mr. Linkhaw, and the——”
“Mercy, yes!” interposed Adele, with promptitude. “Don’t let’s have that all over again. I’ve quite settled everything in my own mind.”