gratify her more than yours. She has praised you up to Sir Rufus,' added the old lady, simply.
'Dear mother, what has he got to do with it?' her son demanded, staring. 'I don't care what Sir Rufus thinks of me.'
Fortunately the good lady was left only for a moment confronted with this inquiry, for Agatha now re-entered the room, passing in from the terrace by one of the long windows and accompanied precisely by the gentleman whom her relatives had been discussing. She came toward them smiling and perhaps even blushing a little, but with an air of considerable resolution, and she said to Macarthy, 'Brother, I want to make you acquainted with a good friend of ours, Sir Rufus Chasemore.'
'Oh, I asked Miss Grice to be so good.' The Englishman laughed, looking easy and genial.
Macarthy got up and extended his hand, with a 'Very happy to know you, sir,' and the two men stood a moment looking at each other while Agatha, beside them, bent her regard upon both. I shall not attempt to translate the reflections which rose in the young lady's mind as she did so, for they were complicated and subtle and it is quite difficult enough to reproduce our own more casual impression of the contrast between her companions. This contrast was extreme and complete, and it was not weakened by the fact that both the men had the signs of character and ability. The American was thin, dry, fine, with something in his face which seemed to say that there was more in him of the spirit than of the letter. He looked unfinished and yet somehow he looked mature, though he was not advanced in life. The Englishman had more detail
