lf at each station. The force of Dawson's intellect is such that he makes all this moral turbidity as clear as crystal while he remains in evidence. His bodily presence has a kind of illuminating power, and all the errors that we fancy we have found he traces to their original source, which is always in our suspicious and inexperienced minds. As he leaves the room he points out some proof of unexampled magnanimity on the part of the hotel; as, for instance, the fact that the management has not charged a penny for sending up Miss Monroe's breakfast trays. Francesca impulsively presses two shillings into his honest hand and remembers afterwards that only one breakfast was served in our bedrooms during that particular week, and that it was mine, not hers.
The Paid Out column is another source of great anxiety. Francesca is a person who is always buying things unexpectedly and sending them home C.O.D.; always taking a cab and having it paid at the house; always sending telegrams and messages by hansom, and
A travelogue thinly coated with fiction, covering London and the countryside. American artist Penelope Hamilton and her friends Francesca Van Buren Monroe and Salemina discuss the sights as they visit England. While there's not much of interest to present-day travelers, readers with a bent for historic fiction will enjoy Penelope's trenchant descriptions of the Britons she encounters.
Especially amusing passages include the three Americans' efforts to conquer soft-boiled eggs and their voyeuristic commentary on a debutante's ball occurring across the street from their hotel.
This book is much better than the subsequent volume covering Scotland.