“Hotel PO-tomac.”

“Hotel Po-TO-mac?”

“If you prefer it.”

The driver grinned and shut Soames in… The Veterans’ Home! They said the veterans had pretty well died off. Still, they’d have plenty coming on from this last war. Besides, what was space and money to America? They had so much they didn’t know what to do with it. Well, he didn’t mind that, now that he was leaving. He didn’t mind anything. Indeed, he had invited quite a number of Americans to come and see his pictures if they came to England. They had been very kind, very hospitable; he had seen a great many fine pictures too, including some Chinese; and a great many high buildings, and the air was very stimulating. It wouldn’t suit him to live here, but it was all very much alive, and a good tonic, for a bit. ‘I can’t see HER living here!’ he thought suddenly. ‘There never was anyone more private.’ The cars streamed past him, or stood parked in rows. America was all cars and newspapers! And a sudden thought disturbed him. They put everything into the newspapers over here; what if his name were among the arrivals?

Reaching his hotel, he went at once towards the kiosk in the hall where you could buy newspapers, tooth-paste, “candy” to pull your teeth out—teeth to replace them, he shouldn’t be surprised. List of arrivals? Here it was: “Hotel Potomac: Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus K. McGunn; the Misses Errick; Mr. H. Yellam Roof; Mr. Semmes Forsyth; Mr. and Mrs. Munt.” As large as life, but, fortunately, only half as natural! Forsyth! Munt! They never could get anything right in the papers. “Semmes!” Unrecognisable, he should hope. And going over to the bureau, he turned the register towards him. Yes! he had written the names quite clearly.