Lord Loveland Discovers America

								

"Let them look at you--the girls I mean--in any light, there, on their
native heath, where practically no competition can exist. For who ever
heard of an American heiress marrying an American man?"
"I suppose it must happen sometimes," said Val.
"It's never in the newspapers. No, dearest, I believe that is why,
according to statistics, there are so many more men than women in the
States. The girls marry our men. And really some of them are quite
presentable."
If any one of three or four beautiful and charming Duchesses had heard
the tone in which old Lady Loveland said this, she would have laughed or
sneered, according to her mood.
"Do you know many Americans, Val?" his mother went on, thoughtfully.
"Hardly any except Jim Harborough, and--er--his cousin who has married
Stanforth."
(This was another instance of a misguided young woman who preferred a
Duke to the Marquis. Therefore she remained nameless between mother and
son.)
"Mr. Harborough would, I suppose, give you letters of introduction to
the Right People over there?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose he would. He doesn't approve of me; but he couldn't
refuse letters to his wife's cousin."
"Doesn't approve of you, indeed! What impertinence! But perhaps he's
jealous, and thinks you were once in love with Betty. I feared it myself
before she paid that visit to the States which turned out such a
success. Just as I'm sure yours would, if you went."
"I never was in love with Betty. First cousins are a bit too near to be
interesting. One's generally known them since the stage when they were
silly over dolls. Besides, Betty looks too much like me. I don't care
for yellow-haired, blue-eyed girls."
"It's just as well you didn't care for Betty. Such a marriage would have
been disastrous. But she's a sweet girl, and must have made a good many
friends in the States. There was the young woman Mohunsleigh married,
for instance. I believe he met her through Betty. Oh, Val, you really
ought to go over. I'm sure you'd be the greatest success."
"Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea," Loveland patronized his mother's
inspiration. "Of course Harborough and Betty would both give me letters.
If I had to marry--horrid bore, at my age!--and could afford to choose,
I'd take an English girl of the right sort. But Americans are a lot
better than English ones of the wrong sort; middle class mushrooms
who've shot up in a night--on the strength of Pale Pills for Pink
People, or Corsets, or Disinfectants. If a man's a beggar he must be
content with the wine and wives of the country where he begs. American
girls, no matter what they've sprung from, seem adaptable; and anyhow,
people are tolerant of any queer ways they may have."
"That's true," agreed Lady Loveland, who had never in her life spoken to
an American girl, but was now eager to become Dowager for the sake of a
desirable one. "If you went to New York--or somewhere--you'd see enough