tinued the young man. "They eat nothing but filth."
"Oh, I say!" cried Willie Woodley.
"Well, how do you like London, Miss Alden?" Lord Lambeth asked, unperturbed by this ejaculation.
"I think it's grand," said Bessie Alden.
"My sister likes it, in spite of the 'filth!'" Mrs. Westgate exclaimed.
"I hope you are going to stay a long time."
"As long as I can," said Bessie.
"And where is Mr. Westgate?" asked Lord Lambeth of this gentleman's wife.
"He's where he always is—in that tiresome New York."
"He must be tremendously clever," said the young man.
"I suppose he is," said Mrs. Westgate.
Lord Lambeth sat for nearly an hour with his American friends; but it is not our purpose to relate their conversation in full. He addressed a great many remarks to Bessie Alden, and finally turned toward her altogether, while Willie Woodley entertained Mrs. Westgate. Bessie herself said very little; she was on her guard, thinking of what her sister had said to her at lunch. Little by little, however, she interested herself in Lord Lambeth again, as she had done at Newport; only it seem-
