“And I half made up my mind to go,” Daisy wrote to Bessie in May.  “I have often wished to see America, and shall never have a better chance than this.  Though not the most refined people in the world, the Rossiter-Brownes are very nice and very kind to me.  Lady June, I dare say, would call them vulgar and second-class, and I am inclined to think they are what their own countrymen call shoddy.  They have not always been rich as they are now.  Indeed, Mrs. Rossiter-Browne makes no secret of the fact that she was once poor and did her own washing, which is very commendable in her, I am sure.  By some means or other—­either oil, or pork, or the war—­they have made a fortune and have come abroad to spend it in a most princely manner.  Mrs. Rossiter-Browne is good-looking, and wears the finest diamonds at Nice, if I except some of the Russian ladies, but her grammar is dreadful, her style of dress very conspicuous, and her voice loud and coarse.  Augusta, the daughter, is twenty, and much better educated than her mother.  She is rather pretty and stylish, but indolent and proud.  Allen, the son, is twenty-two, tall, light-haired, good-natured, and dandified, kisses his mother night and morning, calls her ma and his father pa, and his sister sis; drives fast horses, wears an eye-glass, carries a cane, and affects the English drawl. Pere Rossiter-Browne is a little dapper man, with a face like a squirrel.  At breakfast, which is served in their parlor, he eats with his knife, and pours his tea into his saucer in spite of Augusta’s disgust and his wife’s open protestations.

“‘Now, Angeline, you shet up with your folderol,’ he will say, with the most imperturbable good humor.  ’At table dote I can behave with the best of ’em, but in my own room I’m goin’ to be comfortable and take things easy like, and if I want to cool my tea in my sasser I shall.  Miss McPherson don’t think no less of me for that, you bet.’

“They have given me a standing invitation to breakfast with them when I like.

“‘It don’t cost no more for five than for four,’ Mr. Rossiter-Browne says, and as juicy beefsteaks and mutton chops and real cream have a better relish than rolls and tea, I accept their hospitality in this as in many other things.

“They take me everywhere, and I am really quite useful to them in various ways.  None of them speak French at all except Augusta, and she very badly.  But she is improving rapidly, for I hear her read both French and Italian every day, and help her with her pronunciation.  Then I have introduced them to a great many people, among whom are some English lords and ladies and German barons and baronesses; and, as all Americans dote on titles, notwithstanding their boasted democracy, so Mrs. Rossiter-Browne is not an exception, but almost bursts with dignity when she speaks to her Yankee friends of what Lady So-and-so said to her and what she said to Baron Blank.