"I was," she admits, "but I had no need to be. My mother was one of the fairest, sweetest, and purest of America's daughters. Yet I had a prejudice against the people of her native land and mine, a girl's prejudice that made me unjust to the many because I hated a few. Some day I will tell you about my life in America, Lady Clive, and you will understand me better, perhaps."
"Shall you go back to the United States with Phil, or shall you prefer a life in England?" Lady Clive inquires.
"We have not settled that yet," the young girl answers, blushing.
Her face has grown very thoughtful as she speaks. A moment later she asks, in an altered voice:
"Who were those American people whom you met in Switzerland, Lady Clive?"
Lady Clive seemed to reflect.
"You mean those vulgarly rich people?" she inquires.
"Yes."
"My dear, I have quite forgotten what they were called. I have such a poor memory for names. But no matter. You will see them in London this winter," Lady Clive replies.