Opportunity sighed and stubbed out her cigarette. There were many things to love about America, a sense of immensity and wide open space that took her back to her childhood in Ceylon and India before her father had retired to England with its claustophobic stone walls and stifling regimental neatness. Unfortunately, at least here in the aptly named New England, people seemed to view the mother country as something to emulate rather than escape. Natives would blather on about how their families came up from Salem in sixtenwhogaveadamn and could trace their decendants back to wherever. Texas, Chicago, California, now those were places for a modern soul, not this rustic Arkam. Still there was work to be done here, and she had even found the excelsior convenient, chatting with a young professor about the possibility of searching for ship wrecks by air, perhaps when she was done with her other business it might even come to something. 

Dressed in a gown of green silk with a daring slash up the thigh, Opportunity certainly looked more like she was on her way to the theatre in Chicago rather than to a stuffy dinner in Arkam, but she didn't see any reason to bend herself too far out of shape for the Wildes. She picked her handbag up from where it had sat and pulled her cloche hat down over her dark slightly curled hair.

"Wonderful," she told the footman, in her oddly cosmopolitan accent, "then lets go visit our American cousins shall we?"