We had a lovely day, but everybody we met on the river looked very unhappy, and nobody seemed to be at all glad that we were there or that we were rising to the occasion.  When we got home I was too tired to notice things, but my sister, who sees everything, whispered: 

“I verily believe they’ve put down a new stair-carpet to-day.”

The next morning such a sight met our astonished eyes.  There was a new carpet on the hall.  There were new curtains in our drawing-room.  All the covers had been removed from their sacred furniture.  Brass andirons replaced the old ones.  The piano had a new cover.  There was a rocking-chair for each (we had only one before), and while we were still speechless with amazement Mrs. Black came in with our bill.

“I have been thinking this over since yesterday, and I have decided that as long as you did not understand about the extras, it would be no more than right that I should take them off.  So I owe you this.”

I took the money, and it dropped from my nerveless fingers.  Mrs. Black picked it up and put it on the table—­the mahogany table.

“You see I propped your palms for you in your absence, and I repotted four of them.  I thought they would grow better.  Here are some periodicals I sent to the library for, thinking you might like to look at them, and I put my new calendar over your writing-desk.  Now, is there any little delicacy you would like for your luncheon?”

While Bee was getting rid of her I made a few rapid mental calculations.

“Bee,” I said, “we are going to stay over here two years.  Let’s buy the Duke and take him with us.”

* * * * *

The reaction has come.  I knew it would.  It always does.  It is a mortification to be obliged to admit it in the face of London, and all that we have had done for us, but the fact is we are homesick—­wretchedly, bitterly homesick.  I remember how, when other people have been here and written that they were homesick, I have sniffed with contempt and have said to myself, “What poor taste!  Just wait until my turn comes to go to Europe!  I’ll show them what it is to enjoy every moment of my stay!”

But now—­dear me, I can remember that I have made invidious remarks about New York, and have objected to the odors in Chicago, and have hated the Illinois Central turnstiles.  But if I could be back in America I would not mind being caught in a turnstile all day.  Dear America!  Dear Lake Michigan!  Dear Chicago!

I have talked the matter over with my sister, and we have decided that it must be the people, for certainly the novelty is not yet worn off of this marvellous London.  We like individually nearly every one whom we have met, but as a nation the English are to me an acquired taste—­just like olives and German opera.