“Well, of course we should have to modify it,” I admitted. “Perhaps—perhaps our family will be larger.”
She put her hand on my lips, and blushed a fiery red....
We examined, with other tourists, at a shilling apiece historic mansions with endless drawing-rooms, halls, libraries, galleries filled with family portraits; elaborate, formal bedrooms where famous sovereigns had slept, all roped off and carpeted with canvas strips to protect the floors. Through mullioned windows we caught glimpses of gardens and geometrical parterres, lakes, fountains, statuary, fantastic topiary and distant stretches of park. Maude sighed with admiration, but did not covet. She had me. But I was often uncomfortable, resenting the vulgar, gaping tourists with whom we were herded and the easy familiarity of the guides. These did not trouble Maude, who often annoyed me by asking naive questions herself. I would nudge her.
One afternoon when, with other compatriots, we were being hurried through a famous castle, the guide unwittingly ushered us into a drawing-room where the owner and several guests were seated about a tea-table. I shall never forget the stares they gave us before we had time precipitately to retreat, nor the feeling of disgust and rebellion that came over me. This was heightened by the remark of a heavy, six-foot Ohioan with an infantile face and a genial manner.
“I notice that they didn't invite us to sit down and have a bite,” he said. “I call that kind of inhospitable.”
“It was 'is lordship himself!” exclaimed the guide, scandalized.
“You don't say!” drawled our fellow-countryman. “I guess I owe you another shilling, my friend.”
The guide, utterly bewildered, accepted it. The transatlantic point of view towards the nobility was beyond him.
“His lordship could make a nice little income if he set up as a side show,” added the Ohioan.
Maude giggled, but I was furious. And no sooner were we outside the gates than I declared I should never again enter a private residence by the back door.