“They are tremendously old; they are all falling to ruins.”
“I think there is nothing so charming as an old ruinous garden,” said the young girl. “We must certainly go there.”
Lord Lambeth broke out into merriment. “I say, Woodley,” he cried, “here’s Miss Alden wants to go to the Rosherville Gardens!”
Willie Woodley looked a little blank; he was caught in the fact of ignorance of an apparently conspicuous feature of London life. But in a moment he turned it off. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll write for a permit.”
Lord Lambeth’s exhilaration increased. “Gad, I believe you Americans would go anywhere!” he cried.
“We wish to go to Parliament,” said Bessie. “That’s one of the first things.”
“Oh, it would bore you to death!” cried the young man.
“We wish to hear you speak.”
“I never speak—except to young ladies,” said Lord Lambeth, smiling.
Bessie Alden looked at him a while, smiling, too, in the shadow of her parasol. “You are very strange,” she murmured. “I don’t think I approve of you.”