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“Mamma is not very patriotic,” said Aurora Church, smiling.

“Well, I call that dreadful,” her companion declared. “I have heard that there are some Americans like that, but I never believed it.”

“There are all sorts of Americans,” I said, laughing.

“Aurora’s one of the right sort,” rejoined Miss Ruck, who had apparently become very intimate with her new friend.

“Are you very patriotic?” I asked of the young girl.

“She’s right down homesick,” said Miss Sophy; “she’s dying to go. If I were you my mother would have to take me.”

“Mamma is going to take me to Dresden.”

“Well, I declare I never heard of anything so dreadful!” cried Miss Ruck. “It’s like something in a story.”

“I never heard there was anything very dreadful in Dresden,” I interposed.

Miss Ruck looked at me a moment. “Well, I don’t believe YOU are a good American,” she replied, “and I never supposed you were. You had better go in there and talk to Mrs. Church.”

“Dresden is really very nice, isn’t it?” I asked of her companion.

“It isn’t nice if you happen to prefer New York,” said Miss Sophy. “Miss Church prefers New York. Tell him you are dying to see New York; it will make him angry,” she went on.

“I have no desire to make him angry,” said Aurora, smiling.

“It is only Miss Ruck who can do that,” I rejoined. “Have you been a long time in Europe?”

“Always.”

“I call that wicked!” Miss Sophy declared.

“You might be in a worse place,” I continued. “I find Europe very interesting.”

Miss Ruck gave a little laugh. “I was saying that you wanted to pass for a European.”

“Yes, I want to pass for a Dalmatian.”

Miss Ruck looked at me a moment. “Well, you had better not come home,” she said. “No one will speak to you.”

“Were you born in these countries?” I asked of her companion.

“Oh, no; I came to Europe when I was a small child. But I remember America a little, and it seems delightful.”

“Wait till you see it again. It’s just too lovely,” said Miss Sophy.

“It’s the grandest country in the world,” I added.

Miss Ruck began to toss her head. “Come away, my dear,” she said. “If there’s a creature I despise it’s a man that tries to say funny things about his own country.”

“Don’t you think one can be tired of Europe?” Aurora asked, lingering.

“Possibly–after many years.”

“Father was tired of it after three weeks,” said Miss Ruck.

“I have been here sixteen years,” her friend went on, looking at me with a charming intentness, as if she had a purpose in speaking. “It used to be for my education. I don’t know what it’s for now.”

“She’s beautifully educated,” said Miss Ruck. “She knows four languages.”

“I am not very sure that I know English.”

“You should go to Boston!” cried Miss Sophy. “They speak splendidly in Boston.”

“C’est mon reve,” said Aurora, still looking at me.

“Have you been all over Europe,” I asked–“in all the different countries?”

She hesitated a moment. “Everywhere that there’s a pension. Mamma is devoted to pensions. We have lived, at one time or another, in every pension in Europe.”

“Well, I should think you had seen about enough,” said Miss Ruck.

“It’s a delightful way of seeing Europe,” Aurora rejoined, with her brilliant smile. “You may imagine how it has attached me to the different countries. I have such charming souvenirs! There is a pension awaiting us now at Dresden,–eight francs a day, without wine. That’s rather dear. Mamma means to make them give us wine. Mamma is a great authority on pensions; she is known, that way, all over Europe. Last winter we were in Italy, and she discovered one at Piacenza,–four francs a day. We made economies.”

“Your mother doesn’t seem to mingle much,” observed Miss Ruck, glancing through the window at the scholastic attitude of Mrs. Church.