He called at the house the same afternoon—for on the next day but one the Etruria sailed—and he found the ladies at home. He sat down, wondering if he would be left alone with Miss Pierways and take his departure engaged to her. But for half an hour there seemed no likelihood of a tête-à-tête. Presently there were more callers and they were shown into another room. Mrs. Van Buren begged him to excuse her. He rose to leave, but was pressed to remain.
"I want to talk to you when they've gone," she said; "I haven't half exhausted my list of messages to London."
Heriot resumed his seat, and Miss Pierways smiled.
"Poor mamma wishes she were going herself, if she told the truth! Now that we're here, it is I who like New York, not she."
"We're creatures of custom," he said; "your mother has lived in London too long to accustom herself to America very easily... Of course you'll be over next season?"
"Oh yes. Shall you ever come to America again, Sir George?"
"I—I hardly know," he answered. "I certainly hope to."
"Oh, then, you will! You're your own master."
"Is anybody his own master?"
"To the extent of travelling to America, many people, I should think!"