would not be soothed. He repeated, "But we've not got it!" over and over again as argument in rebuttal to everything the concierge said, and when two waiters appeared with trays he still insisted in a voice that could be heard over half the hotel: "My dear man, it's all very well for you to tell us we shall get it; but I tell you we've not got it!"
He subsided then into his chair; but was insufficiently appeased, for he said, "Perfectly monstrous!" in the act of sitting; and said it again as the tea was being poured for him. "Perfectly monstrous!" One of the ladies said, "S'William," placidly, either as agreeing with him or to placate him; and at intervals, as he drank from his cup, he said, "Perfectly monstrous!" and the lady said, "S'William," in the same placid manner.
There was something fine about all this, Ogle thought; these English had no craven self-consciousness such as he found in himself. They were so secure of themselves that they were never worried by the possible opinions of spectators;—in fact, they were unconscious of spectators; they knew what they wanted and thought only of that. They had a poise founded on the centuries; a poise unattainable by his own fellow-countrymen. And while he was engaged
