“Oh, mamma!” cried Ethel, as she came running toward them, all out of breath, “our side won.”
“Why, Ethel, what have you been doing?” exclaimed her mother, as she held up her hands in amazement.
“I have just finished the jolliest game of tennis I ever played in my life; and my! did n’t we do them up!”
“Such language, Ethel; do you know—”
“Why, mamma, if you could have seen how we Americans vanquished two rum Englishmen you would have shouted ‘Hail Columbia’ and ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ forever!”
“Ethel, Ethel, such language is so unbecoming!”
“I know, mamma, but I am in America once more, and I feel in a ‘Hail Columbia’ sort of mood. There,” said she, “and there,” as she stooped and kissed her mother affectionately. “Now don’t scold me any more. My, but I am having lots of fun.”
Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton adjusted her glasses, which had been displaced by Ethel’s impetuous embrace, and inquired, “Did you say that there were some English families stopping at the hotel, Ethel?”
“Yes, mamma, the Countess Berwyn and Lady Somebody—I don’t remember her name—and her son and an English friend of his.”
“Not such an undesirable place to stop, after all,” remarked Mrs. Lyman Osborn.