“My roommate wants me to sit beside him at the table,” he said. “Do you mind?”
“Who is your roommate?”
“There is his card. He is a younger son of the Earl of Bentley.”
Mrs. Harcourt was agreeably surprised.
“Is it possible?” she asked. “I heard when I engaged passage that the Earl and Countess of Bentley would be on the list of passengers. How old is this son?”
“Nineteen. He seems to have taken a liking to me.”
“By all means, sit beside him if he desires it,” said Mrs. Harcourt graciously. “I am glad you have so desirable a roommate. You must introduce me some time to-day.”
“I will; I am sure you will like him.”
Mrs. Harcourt was one of that numerous class of Americans who are impressed by a title, and she congratulated herself that her newly-found protégé was likely to bring her into acquaintance with the privileged classes.
“My mother is quite willing,” said Ben on his return. “She wishes me to introduce you to her.”