pair at the volume of tourist traffic, and the man with
the shirt cuffs said, "You 'ave took your plazes on ze previous day?"

"I took them from you ten minutes ago," poppa replied. "What a memory
you've got!"

"Zen zare is nothings guaranteed. But we will send special carriage, and
be'ind you can follow up," and he indicated the fiacre which had now
drawn into line.

"I don't think so," said poppa, "when I buy four-in-hand tickets I don't
take one-in-hand accommodation."

"You will not go in ze private carriage?"

"I will not."

"_Mais_--it is much ze preferable."

"I don't know why I should contradict you," said poppa, but at that
moment the difficulty was solved by the Misses Bingham.

"Guide!" cried one of the Misses Bingham, beckoning with her fan, "_Nous
voulons a descendre!_"

"You want get out?"

"_Oui!_" replied the Misses Bingham with simultaneous dignity, and, as
the guide merely wiped his forehead again, poppa stepped forward. "Can I
assist you?" he said, and the Misses Bingham allowed themselves to be
assisted. They were small ladies, dressed in black pongee silk, with
sloping shoulders, and they each carried a black fan and a brocaded bag
for odds and ends. They were not plain-looking, and yet it was readily
seen why nobody had ever married them; they had that look of the
predestined single state that you sometimes see even among the very well
preserved. One of them had an eye-glass, but it was easy to note even
when she was not wearing it that she was a person of independent income,
of family, and of New York.

"We are quite willing," said the Misses Bingham, "to exchange our seats
in the coach for yours in the special carriage, if that arrangement
suits you."

"_Bon!_" interposed the guide, "and opposite there is one other place if
that fat gentleman will squeeze himself a little--eh?"

"Come along!" said the fat gentleman equably.

"But I couldn't think of depriving you ladies."

"Sir," said one Miss Bingham, "it is no deprivation."

"We should prefer it," added the other Miss Bingham. They spoke with
decision; one saw that they had not reached middle age without knowing
their own minds all the way.

"To tell the truth," added the Miss Bingham without the eye-glass in a
low voice, "we don't think we can stand it."

"I don't precisely take you, madam," said the Senator politely.

"I'm an American," she continued.

Poppa bowed. "I should have known you for a daughter of the Stars