The newcomer was without doubt a Frenchwoman, somewhat elderly, but very vigorous and active.  She had masses of snow-white hair, and large, alert, black eyes that seemed to dart quickly from one point of interest to another.  She was a little lady, but her gait and manner were marked by an air not only of aristocracy, but as of one accustomed to exert absolute authority.  Nor was she apparently of a mild and amiable disposition.  She spoke sharply to the steward, although he was doing his best to serve her.

“And is it that you shall be all night in arranging my chair?” she exclaimed.  Then, as she was finally seated, she continued her grumbling.  “And is it not enough that I must be delayed, but still I have received no menu?  One shall see if this is to be permitted!”

The steward did not seem unduly alarmed at the little old lady’s angry speech, but hastened to bring her the daintily printed bill of fare.

Raising her jewelled lorgnon, the French lady scanned the menu, and having made a choice of soup, she laid the card down, and turning toward Patty surveyed her leisurely through her glasses.

Her manner as she scrutinised Patty was by no means rude or impertinent.  It had rather the effect of an honest curiosity and a polite interest.

“There is no denying, my dear,” she said at last, “that you are of a beauty.  And of a sweetness.  An American of Americans.  New York—­is it not so?”

There was an indefinable charm about the old lady’s manner that won Patty’s heart at once, and though in any case she would have been polite, she answered with cordiality: 

“Yes, madame, I live in New York, although I was born in the South and lived there for many years.”

“Ah, then, it is explained.  It is your Southern States that make the charm, the aplomb, without the—­what you call—­the—­the freshness.  Is it not so?  But I do not mean the freshness of the cheek; and yet, in the argot do you not say freshness is cheek?  Ah, I am bewildered; I am mixup with your strange words; but I will learn them!  They shall not conquer me!  And you will help me; is it not so?”

“I will help you with pleasure, madame,” replied Patty, dimpling with fun as she heard the old lady’s unsuccessful attempts in American slang.  “My name is Patty Fairfield; and though I seldom use the slang of my country, I’m more or less familiar with its terms, and can enlighten you concerning them, at least to a degree.  To me your language is difficult; but perhaps we may by conversation help each other.”

“Patty Fairfield; a pleasant name for a pleasant child.  But I’m not madame; pray call me ma’amselle.  I am Ma’amselle Labesse.”

“You are a Frenchwoman, of course?” inquired Patty.

“A Frenchwoman, yes; but of an admiration for your strange American country.  I go home now, but I shall return again.  Your country is of an interest.”