"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Cheriton."
"Won't you sit down?" she said. "He will be here in a minute."
Heriot took a seat, and decided that her eyes were even lovelier than he had known.
"When I saw you last, you were a child," he remarked inaccurately.
"Yes; it must have astonished you meeting my father again after so many years. It was funny, your being here, wasn't it?... But perhaps you often come to Eastbourne?"
"No," said Heriot, "no, I don't often come. How does it strike you, Miss Cheriton? I suppose you can hardly remember England, can you?"
"Well, I shan't be sorry to be settled in London; it was London I was anxious to go to, not the sea-shore.... Do you say 'sea-shore' in Europe, or is it wrong? When I said 'sea-shore' this morning, I noticed that a woman stared at me."
"One generally says 'seaside' over here; I don't know that it's important."
"Well, the 'seaside' then. The seaside was my aunt's wish. Well—— Well, I'm saying 'well' too often, I guess?—that's American, too! I've got to be quite English—that's my first step. But at least I don't talk like Americans in your comic papers, do I?"
"You talk very delightfully, I think," he said, taken aback.