“Umph!” ejaculated Miss McPherson, with an upward toss of the chin.  Then, turning to Grey, she said, “And did you, too, like all the foreign habits?”

“No, indeed,” was Grey’s reply.  “Just think of having your coffee and roll brought to you in the morning while you are in bed, and eating it in the smelling room, without washing your hands, and then going to sleep again.  That is what I call very narsty, as the English say, though they do not use the word in that sense.”

“You forget that Miss McPherson is English,” Mrs. Jerrold said, and the lady in question at once rejoined: 

“Never mind.  I do not believe in spoiling a story for relation’s sake, or country’s either, and I fully agree with Grey that the Continental habit of breakfasting in bed, with unwashed face and hands, is a very nasty one, in the American sense of the word.  I never did it, and never would.”

“You have been on the Continent, then?” Mr. Jerrold asked, and instantly there came upon Miss McPherson’s face an expression of bitter pain, as if some sad memory had been stirred; then, quickly recovering herself, she answered: 

“Yes, I was at school in Paris a year, and traveled another year all over Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.  It may seem strange to Grey, who probably cannot realize that I was ever young, to know that I, too, have my Alpenstock as a voucher for the mountains I have climbed and the chasms I have crossed.  Did you go to Monte-Carlo?”

The question was addressed to Grey, who replied: 

“Yes, we were there four days.”

“Did you play?”

“No, I did not even see them play.  They would not let me in; I was too young, and I should not have played anyway, for I promised Aunt Lucy I would not,” Grey said, and Miss McPherson replied, with startling vehemence: 

“That’s right, my boy! that’s right!  Never, never play for money so long as you live.  You have no idea what perils lurk around the gaming-table, or what an accursed spot Monte-Carlo is, beautiful as it is to look at.  Those lovely grounds are haunted with the ghosts of the suicides who, ruined body and soul, have rushed unprepared into the presence of their Maker.”

None of the guests had ever seen Miss McPherson so excited, and for a moment there was silence while they gazed at her wonderingly, as she sat with lips compressed and nostrils dilated, looking intently over their heads at something they could not see, but which evidently was very vivid to her.

Mrs. Geraldine was the first to speak, and she said, half laughingly: 

“You are quite as much prejudiced against Rouge et Noir as your brother, for when I told him I tried my luck at Monte-Carlo and won twenty-five dollars, he seemed horrified, and I think it took him some hours to regard me with favor again.”

“Yes, and he had reason.  The McPhersons have all good cause to abhor the very name of gambling,” Miss McPherson replied, hitching her chair a little further away from Geraldine as from something poisonous; then, in her characteristic way of suddenly changing the conversation, she said:  “You saw my nephew, Neil McPherson?”