else that fate might drop her down.
Unquestionably she came from oversea--from the States.

She stepped forward into the restaurant. And now slipped also into
view, as part of the background for her, a middle-aged man, who wore the
conventional black of the statesman. He, too, bore the American label
unmistakably. Nearer and nearer to West she drew, and he saw that in her
hand she carried a copy of the Daily Mail.

West's waiter was a master of the art of suggesting that no table in the
room was worth sitting at save that at which he held ready a chair. Thus
he lured the girl and her companion to repose not five feet from where
West sat. This accomplished, he whipped out his order book, and stood
with pencil poised, like a reporter in an American play.

"The strawberries are delicious," he said in honeyed tones.

The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes.

"Not for me, dad," she said. "I hate them! Grapefruit, please."

As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him. He spoke in loud defiant
tones.

"Another plate of the strawberries!" he commanded. "They are better than
ever to-day."

For a second, as though he were part of the scenery, those violet eyes
met his with a casual impersonal glance. Then their owner slowly spread
out her own copy of the Mail.

"What's the news?" asked the statesman, drinking deep from his glass of
water.

"Don't ask me," the girl answered, without looking up. "I've found
something more entertaining than news. Do you know--the English papers
run humorous columns! Only they aren't called that. They're called
Personal Notices. And such notices!" She leaned across the table.
"Listen to this: 'Dearest: Tender loving wishes to my dear one. Only to
be with you now and always. None "fairer in my eyes."--

The man looked uncomfortably about him. "Hush!" he pleaded. "It doesn't
sound very nice to me."

"Nice!" cried the girl. "Oh, but it is--quite nice. And so deliciously
open and aboveboard. 'Your name is music to me. I love you more--'"

"What do we see to-day?" put in her father hastily.

"We're going down to the City and have a look at the Temple. Thackeray
lived there once--and Oliver Goldsmith--"

"All right--the Temple it is."

"Then the Tower of London. It's full of the most romantic associations.
Especially the Bloody Tower, where those poor little princes were
murdered. Aren't you thrilled?"

"I am if you say so."

"You're a dear! I promise not to tell the peop