"I have ordered a brougham to meet the one-thirty train, Berty," she said, "to bring my Americans up. They will be here in a minute. Come into the hall with me to receive them."

The Duke accompanied her reluctantly.

"It would be as well to know their name," he said, as he sauntered after her trailing skirts.

"Cadwallader--Miss Martina B. Cadwallader--that is the aunt, and Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet--that is the niece," said Lady Grenellen, stalking ahead.

The windows of the long gallery where we were all sitting looked onto the court-yard, and two flys pa.s.sed the angle of the turret.

"Look at the luggage!" exclaimed Babykins, and we all went to the window.

There was, indeed, a wonderful collection--both flys laden with enormous, iron-bound trunks as big as hen-houses. A pair of smart French maids seemed buried beneath them.

The entire party of us burned with curiosity to see the owners, but long before they appeared we were conscious of their presence.

Two of the most highly pitched American voices I have ever heard were saying civil things to our host and Lady Grenellen. More highly pitched than Hephzibah's, and that is the highest, I thought, there could be in the world.

"She is awfully good-looking," whispered Babykins, who caught sight of them first as they came through the hall.

The aunt walked in front with Lady Grenellen, a tall woman with a keen, dark face of the red Indian type, with pure white hair, beautifully done, and a perfect dignity of carriage.

The heiress followed with the Duke. She is small and plump and feminine-looking, with the sweetest dimpled face and great brown eyes. Both were exquisitely dressed and carried little bags at their waists. Their manner had complete a.s.surance, without a trace of self-consciousness.

Lady Grenellen had told us all their history. Not a possible drop of blood bluer than a navvy's could circulate in their veins, and yet their wrists were fine, their heads were small, and their general appearance was that of gentlewomen.

I seemed to see pictures and sounds of my earliest childhood as they spoke, I took to them at once.

Following the English custom, Lady Grenellen did not introduce them to any one but Babykins, who happened to step forward, and we all proceeded to lunch, which was laid at small, round tables.

The Duke wore an air of comic distress. His eyebrows were raised as though trying to understand a foreign language.

I sat with Lady Tilchester at another table, and we could not hear most of their conversation, only the sentences of the American ladies, and they sounded like some one talking down the telephone in one of the plays I saw in Paris. You only heard one side, not the answers back.

"Why, this is a real castle!" "You don't say!" "Yes, beheaded in the hall." "Miss Trumpet has all the statistics. She read them in the guide-book coming along." "I calculate she knows more about your family history, Dook, than you know yourself," etc., etc.

"What a pity they have voices like that!" exclaimed Lady Tilchester.

"I know Berty will be put off, he is so ridiculously fastidious, and it is absolutely necessary that he should marry an heiress."

"The niece is young. Perhaps hers could be softened," I said. "She is so pretty, too."

Lady Tilchester looked at me suddenly. She had not listened to what I said.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Gurrage, you will help us to secure this girl? I ask you frankly, because, of course, the Duke is in love with you, and he naturally would not be impressed with Miss Trumpet."

I should have been angry if any one else had said this. But there is something so adorable about Lady Tilchester she can say anything.

"You are quite mistaken. I have only seen the Duke at your house,"

I said, smiling, "and a man cannot get in love on so short an acquaintance, can he?--besides, my being only just married."

"I suppose you have not an idea how beautiful you are, dear," she said, kindly. "Much as I like you, I almost wish you were not staying here now."

"I promise I will do my best to encourage the Duke to marry Miss Trumpet, if you wish it," I said, "I think he knows it is a necessity from what he said to me."

"Then I shall carry you up-stairs this afternoon out of harm's way," she said, with her exquisite smile. "Berty always gives me a dear little sitting-room next my room, and we can have a regular school-girls' chat over the fire."

Nothing could have pleased me better. I would rather talk to this dear lady than any Duke in the world.

After lunch some introductions were gone through.

"Now I am proud to be presented to you," said the aunt to Lady Tilchester, with perfect composure. "We have heard a great deal of you in our country, and my niece, Miss Trumpet, has always had the greatest admiration for your photograph."

The niece, meanwhile, talked to me.

There is something so fresh and engaging about her that in a few moments one almost forgot her terrible voice.

"Why, it does seem strange," she said, "with the veneration we have in America for really old things, to hear the Duke" (she does not quite say Dook, like the aunt. It sounds more like Juke) "call this castle an old 'stone-heap.' I am just longing to see the place his ancestor was beheaded upon in May, 1485. The Duke hardly seems to know about it, but I have been led to expect, from the guide-book, that I should see the blood on the stones."

The beautiful young man, Lord Luffton, now engaged her in conversation, and as Lady Tilchester and I left the hall both he and the Duke were escorting Miss Trumpet to the dais--no doubt to turn up the carpet and search for the traditional blood upon the steps.

"They are the most wonderful nation," Lady Tilchester said, as she linked her arm in mine. "Here is a girl looking as well bred as any of us--more so than most of us--probably beautifully educated, and accomplished, too, and whose father began as a common navvy or miner out in the West. The mother is dead--she took in washing, Cordelia says--and yet she was the sister of Miss Martina B. Cadwallader! How on earth do they manage to look like this?"

"It is wonderful, certainly. It must be the climate," I hazarded.

"We cannot do it in England. Think of the terrible creature a girl with such parentage would be here. Picture her ankles and hands! And the self-consciousness, or the swagger, this situation would display!"

I thought of Mrs. Dodd and the Gurrage commercial relations generally.

"Yes, _indeed_," I said.

"They are so adaptable," she continued. "It does not seem to matter into what nation they marry, they seem to a.s.similate and fit into their places. When this little thing is a d.u.c.h.ess, you will see she will fulfil the position to a tee. Berty will be very lucky if he secures her."

"I think Lord Luffton will be a much greater stumbling-block than I shall," I laughed. "Perhaps he likes the idea of fifty thousand a year, too."

"Oh, Cordelia will see about that. Babykins, who knows everything, tells me she has fallen wildly in love with Luffy. He has only arrived back from the war about a week. And she will not let any other woman interfere with her. I had heard another story about her in Scotland.

They told me she was having an affair with some"--she stopped suddenly, no doubt remembering to whom she was talking--"foreigner."

She ended the sentence with perfect tact.

The little sitting-room is in a turret and is octagon-shaped, a dainty, charming, old-world room that grandmamma might have lived in.

We drew two chairs up to the fire and sat down cosily.

How kind and gracious and altogether charming this woman can be! Again I can only compare her to the sun's rays, so warm and comfortable she makes one feel. There is a n.o.bleness and a loftiness about her which causes even ordinary things she says to sound like fine sentiments. No wonder Mr. Budge adores her.

We spoke very little of people. She told me of her interests and all the schemes to benefit mankind she has in hand. At last she said:

"You have not been to Dane Mount yet, have you?"

"No. We are going there on Monday, after we leave here."