ave nothing
on that scale. I don't apologize, Lord Lambeth; some Americans are
always apologizing; you must have noticed that. We have the reputation
of always boasting and bragging and waving the American flag; but I must
say that what strikes me is that we are perpetually making excuses and
trying to smooth things over. The American flag has quite gone out of
fashion; it's very carefully folded up, like an old tablecloth. Why
should we apologize? The English never apologize--do they? No; I
must say I never apologize. You must take us as we come--with all our
imperfections on our heads. Of course we haven't your country life, and
your old ruins, and your great estates, and your leisure class, and all
that. But if we haven't, I should think you might find it a pleasant
change--I think any country is pleasant where they have pleasant
manners. Captain Littledale told me he had never seen such pleasant
manners as at Newport, and he had been a great deal in European society.
Hadn't he been in the diplomatic service? He told me the dream of his
life was to get appointed to a diplomatic post in Washington. But he
doesn't seem to have succeeded. I suppose that in England promotion--and
all that sort of thing--is fearfully slow. With us, you know, it's a
great deal too fast. You see, I admit our drawbacks. But I must confess
I think Newport is an ideal place. I don't know anything like it
anywhere. Captain Littledale told me he didn't know anything like it
anywhere. It's entirely different from most watering places; it's a
most charming life. I must say I think that when one goes to a foreign
country one ought to enjoy the differences. Of course there are
differences, otherwise what did one come abroad for? Look for your
pleasure in the differences, Lord Lambeth; that's the way to do it;
and then I am sure you will find American society--at least Newport
society--most charming and most interesting. I wish very much my husband
were here; but he's dreadfully confined to New York. I suppose you
think that is very strange--for a gentleman. But you see we haven't any
leisure class."

Mrs. Westgate's discourse, delivered in a soft, sweet voice, flowed
on like a miniature torrent, and was interrupted by a hundred
little smiles, glances, and gestures, which might have figured the
irregularities and obstructions of such a stream. Lord Lambeth listened
to her with, it must be confessed, a rather ineffectual attention,
although he indulg