old joke about good Americans going there when they die. "I must admit you look as if you had come from Heaven! "
"So wretched as all that!" she retorted, laughing merrily. There was no twang in the laugh; it was a ripple of music.
"I don't mean an exile from Heaven," I answered: "an excursionist, with a return-ticket."
"Oh! but I'm not going back," she said, shaking her lovely head.
"Not even when you die?" I asked, smiling.
"I guess I shall need a warmer climate then!" she flashed back audaciously.
"You're too good for that," I answered, without hesitation.
I caught a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, as she answered:
"Gracious! you're very spry at giving strange folks certificates."
"It's my business to give certificates," I answered, smiling.
"Marriage certificates, my lord?" she asked roguishly.
I was about to answer "Doctors' certificates," but her last two syllables froze the words on my lips.
"You—you—know me?" I stammered.
"Yes, your lordship," with a mock bow.
"Why—how—?" I faltered. "You've only just come."
"Jones," she answered.
"Jones!" I repeated, vexed.
"Yes, my lord."
He glided up and re-filled my glass.
"Jones is a nuisance," I said, when he was out of earshot again.
"Jones is a Britisher!" she said enigmatically. "Surely you don't mind people knowing who you are?"
