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Page 28
"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 Americans in tolerant contempt.
It was as Kitty said: the real Englishman and the real American seldom
met.
He did not realize as yet that his position in this house was unique.
In England all great merchants and statesmen and nobles had one or more
private secretaries about. He believed it to be a matter of course
that Americans followed the same custom. He would have been
wonderfully astonished to learn that in all this mighty throbbing city
of millions--people and money--there might be less than a baker's dozen
who occupied simultaneously the positions of private secretary and
friend of the family. Mr. Killigrew had his private secretary, but
this gentleman rarely saw the inside of the Killigrew home; it wasn't
at all necessary that he should. Killigrew was a sensible man; his
business hours began when he left home and ended when he entered it.
"Do you know any earls or dukes?" asked Killigrew, folding his napkin.
"Really, no. I have moved in a very different orbit. I know many of
them by sight, however." He did not think it vital to add that he had
often sold them collars and suspenders.
The butler and the second man pulled back the ladies' chairs.
Killigrew hurried away to his offices; Kitty and her mother went
up-stairs; and Thomas returned to his desk in the library. He was
being watched by Kitty; nothing overt, nothing tangible, yet he sensed
it: from the first day he had entered this house. It oppressed him,
like a presage of disaster. Back of his chair was a fireplace, above
this, a mirror. Once--it was but yesterday--while with his back to his
desk, day-dreaming, he had seen her in the mirror. She stood in the
doorway, a hand resting lightly against the portiere. There was no
smile on her face. The moment he stirred, she vanished.
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