September," said the younger Englishman, irrelevantly but gently.
"For the shooting, eh? or is it the hunting, or the fishing?" inquired his entertainer.
"Oh, I must be in Scotland," said Lord Lambeth, blushing a little.
"Well, then," rejoined Mr. Westgate, "you had better amuse yourself first, also. You must go down and see Mrs. Westgate."
"We should be so happy, if you would kindly tell us the train," said Percy Beaumont.
"It isn't a train—it's a boat."
"Oh, I see. And what is the name of—a—the—a—town?"
"It isn't a town," said Mr. Westgate, laughing. "It's a—well, what shall I call it? It's a watering-place. In short, it's Newport. You'll see what it is. It's cool; that's the principal thing. You will greatly oblige me by going down there and putting yourself into the hands of Mrs. Westgate. It isn't perhaps for me to say it, but you couldn't be in better hands. Also in those of her sister, who is staying with her. She is very fond of Englishmen. She thinks there is nothing like them."
"Mrs. Westgate or—a—her sister?" asked Percy Beaumont, modestly, yet in the tone of an inquiring traveller.
