It made capital reading, however; and in servants’ halls the newspaper became very popular.  It gave rise to a satirical leader on the editorial page:  “What’s the matter with us republicans?  Liberty, fraternity and equality; we flaunt that flag as much as we ever did.  Yet, what a howdy-do when a title comes along!  What a craning of necks, what a kotowing!  How many earldoms and dukedoms are not based upon some detestable action, some despicable service rendered some orgiastic sovereign!  The most honorable thing about the so-called nobility is generally the box-hedge which surrounds the manse.  Kotow; pour our millions into the bottomless purses of spendthrifts; give them our most beautiful women.  There is no remedy for human nature.”

It was this editorial which interested Killigrew far more than the story which had given birth to it.

“That’s the way to shout.”

“Does it do any good?” asked Kitty.  “If we had a lord for breakfast—­I mean, at breakfast—­would you feel at ease?  Wouldn’t you be watching and wondering what it was that made him your social superior?”

“Social superior?  Bah!”

“That’s no argument.  As this editor wisely says, there’s no remedy for human nature.  When I was a silly schoolgirl I often wondered if there wasn’t a duke in the family, or even a knight.  How do you account for that feeling?”

“You were probably reading Bertha M. Clay,” retorted her father, only too glad of such an opening.

“What is your opinion of titles, Mr. Webb?” she asked calmly.

“Mr. Webb is an Englishman, Kitty,” reminded her mother.

“All the more reason for wishing his point of view,” was the reply.

“A title, if managed well, is a fine business asset.”  Thomas stared gravely at his egg-cup.

“A humorist!” cried Killigrew, as if he had discovered a dodo.

“Really, no.  I am typically English, sir.”  But Thomas was smiling this time; and when he smiled Kitty found him very attractive.  She was leaning on her elbows, her folded hands propping her chin; and in his soul Thomas knew that she was looking at him with those boring critical blue eyes of hers.  Why was she always looking at him like that?  “It is notorious that we English are dull and stupid,” he said.

“Now you are making fun of us,” said Kitty seriously.

“I beg your pardon!”

She dropped her hands from under her chin and laughed.  “Do you really wish to know the real secret of our antagonism, Mr. Webb?”

“I should be very glad.”

“Well, then, we each of us wear a chip on our shoulder, simply because we’ve never taken the trouble to know each other well.  Most English we Americans meet are stupid and caddish and uninteresting; and most of the Americans you see are boastful, loud-talking and money-mad.  Our mutual impressions are wholly wrong to begin with.”

“I have no chip on my shoulder,” Thomas refuted eagerly.