."

It was this editorial which interested Killigrew far more than the
story which had given birth to it.

"That's the way to shout."

"Does it do any good?" asked Kitty. "If we had a lord for breakfast--I
mean, at breakfast--would you feel at ease? Wouldn't you be watching
and wondering what it was that made him your social superior?"

"Social superior? Bah!"

"That's no argument. As this editor wisely says, there's no remedy for
human nature. When I was a silly schoolgirl I often wondered if there
wasn't a duke in the family, or even a knight. How do you account for
that feeling?"

"You were probably reading Bertha M. Clay," retorted her father, only
too glad of such an opening.

"What is your opinion of titles, Mr. Webb?" she asked calmly.

"Mr. Webb is an Englishman, Kitty," reminded her mother.

"All the more reason for wishing his point of view," was the reply.

"A title, if managed well, is a fine business asset." Thomas stared
gravely at his egg-cup.

"A humorist!" cried Killigrew, as if he had discovered a dodo.

"Really, no. I am typically English, sir." But Thomas was smiling
this time; and when he smiled Kitty found him very attractive. She was
leaning on her elbows, her folded hands propping her chin; and in his
soul Thomas knew that she was looking at him with those boring critical
blue eyes of hers. Why was she always looking at him like that? "It
is notorious that we English are dull and stupid," he said.

"Now you are making fun of us," said Kitty seriously.

"I beg your pardon!"

She dropped her hands from under her chin and laughed. "Do you really
wish to know the real secret of our antagonism, Mr. Webb?"

"I should be very glad."

"Well, then, we each of us wear a chip on our shoulder, simply because
we've never taken the trouble to know each other well. Most English we
Americans meet are stupid and caddish and uninteresting; and most of
the Americans you see are boastful, loud-talking and money-mad. Our
mutual impressions are wholly wrong to begin with."

"I have no chip on my shoulder," Thomas refuted eagerly.

"Neither have I."

"But I have," laughed her father. "I eat Englishmen for breakfast;
fe-fo-fum style."

How democratic indeed these kindly, unpretentious people were! thought
Thomas. A multimillionaire as amiable as a clerk; a daughter who would
have graced any court in Europe with her charm and elfin beauty. Up to
a month ago he had held all Ame