stead of running round after Americans?' Macarthy demanded.
'He doesn't run round after us; but we knew his sister, Lady Bolitho, in Rome. She is a most sweet woman and we saw a great deal of her; she took a great fancy to Agatha. I surmise that she mentioned us to him pretty often when she went back to England, and when he came abroad for his autumn holiday, as he calls it—he met us first in the Engadine, three or four weeks ago, and came down here with us—it seemed as if we already knew him and he knew us. He is very talented and he is quite well off.'
'Mother,' said Macarthy Grice, going close to the old lady and speaking very gravely, 'why do you know so much about him? Why have you gone into it so?'
'I haven't gone into it; I only know what he has told us.'
'But why have you given him the right to tell you? How does it concern you whether he is well off?'
The poor woman began to look flurried and scared. 'My son, I have given him no right; I don't know what you mean. Besides, it wasn't he who told us he is well off; it was his sister.'
'It would have been better if you hadn't known his sister,' said the young man, gloomily.
'Gracious, Macarthy, we must know some one!' Mrs. Grice rejoined, with a flicker of spirit.
'I don't see the necessity of your knowing the English.'
'Why Macarthy, can't we even know them?' pleaded his mother.
