"It was a shame! Methodists are most respectable people."
"I'm saying nothing contrary."
"The President is a Methodist."
"I never asked what he was. I am a Church of England woman, you know that. Born and bred in the Church, baptized, confirmed, and married in the Church, and I was always taught it was the only proper Church for gentlemen and gentlewomen to be saved in. However, English Methodists often go back to the Church when they get rich."
"Church or chapel makes no difference to me, grandmother. If people are only good."
"To be sure; but you won't be long in England until you'll find out that some things make a great deal of difference. Do you know your father was here this morning? He wanted me to go with you--a likely, thing."
"But, grandmother, do come. We will take such good care of you, and----"
"I know, but I'd rather keep my old memories of Yorkshire than get new-fashioned ones. All is changed. I can tell that by what Fred says. My three great friends are dead. They have left children and grandchildren, of course, but I don't want to make new acquaintances at my age, unless I have the picking of them. No, I shall get Miss Hillis to go with me to my little cabin on the Jersey coast. We'll take our knitting and the fresh novels, and I'll warrant we'll see as much of the new men and women in them as will more than satisfy us. But you must write me long letters, and tell me everything about the Squire and the way he keeps house, and I don't care if you fill up the paper with the Tyrrel-Rawdons."
"I will write you often, Granny, and tell you everything."
"I shouldn't wonder if you come across Dora Stanhope, but I wouldn't ask her to Rawdon. She'll mix some cup of bother if you do."
"I know."
In such loving and intimate conversation the hours sped quickly, and Ethel could not bear to cut short her visit. It was nearly five when she left Gramercy Park, but the day being lovely, and the avenue full of carriages and pedestrians, she took the drive at its enforced tardiness without disapproval. Almost on entering the avenue from Madison Square there was a crush, and her carriage came to a standstill. She was then opposite the store of a famous English saddler, and near her was an open carriage occupied by a middle-aged gentleman in military uniform. He appeared to be waiting for someone, and in a moment or two a young man came out of the saddlery store, and with a pleasant laugh entered the carriage. It was the Apollo of her dreams, the singer of the Holland House pavement. She could not doubt it. His face, his figure, his walk, and the pleasant smile with which he spoke to his companion were all positive characteristics. She had forgotten none of them. His dress was altered to suit the season, but that was an improvement; for divested of his heavy coat, and clothed only in a stylish afternoon suit, his tall, fine figure showed to great advantage; and Ethel told herself that he was even handsomer than she had supposed him to be.