One of the guests had already asked Emily for a summary of British opinion on the subject of British atrocities in Ireland, Egypt and India. Emily said “You may well ask, you may well ask ...” with great energy. She was only three days old in Californian ways, but the newcomer in the Western States becomes at once almost pathetically precocious. Yet nothing—not even self-restraint—can save him from reproach. Speech may be only silver in America, but silence is not in currency at all.
“Yes, indeed; yes, indeed....” said Emily, looking round nervously. Her audience noticed with displeasure that she had not yet said anything to suggest that she disliked being British. To be satisfied with an alien status implies—in the United States—criticism of the Constitution or George Washington or something. The word criticism is of course synonymous with insult. Aliens have to be very careful.
Everyone looked at Emily and looked forward to telling anecdotes later about the superciliousness of the British. But after all she had only just come into the room. Mr. Bird felt that his triumph was going wrong. “Emily is here as secretary to a very eminent Englishman, travelling with his wife to study conditions in the United States. You all know the French philosopher Moriband de Morthomme on the subject of totems and barbarians, and you’ll agree with me that it applies here.”
That may not have been quite the name he mentioned. It does not matter. Everyone in the room was accustomed to not knowing what Avery Bird was talking about.
“I am secretary to a saint,” said Emily. She was rather vehement because she was afraid.
“Indeed,” said Miss Romero with a characteristic swing of her hair, which was like a frilled red ballet-skirt round her head. “What an encouraging job. What kind of saint? There are saints and saints.”
“Yes,” said Emily. “Mine is both.” She added after a pause, “I don’t use the word in the ordinary sense which would just mean—a man I am in love with. I mean a real saint who works miracles.”
“Why, how interesting,” said Miss Romero. “Tell me, is he recognised by the Authorities?”
“I believe they have definitely made his reservation in the flaming chariot,” said Emily. “And—oh, I do hope his cloak will fall on me.”