"I daresay you"re used to that. I"m told there"s a great deal of that in America."
"A great deal of angelic ministering?" the girl laughed again.
"Is that what you call it? I know you"ve different expressions."
"We certainly don"t always understand each other," said Mrs. Westgate, the termination of whose interview with Lady Pimlico had allowed her to revert to their elder visitor.
"I"m speaking of the young men calling so much on the young ladies," the d.u.c.h.ess explained.
"But surely in England," Mrs. Westgate appealed, "the young ladies don"t call on the young men?"
"Some of them do-almost!" Lady Pimlico declared. "When a young man"s a great _parti_."
"Bessie, you must make a note of that," said Mrs. Westgate. "My sister"-she gave their friends the benefit of the knowledge-"is a model traveller. She writes down all the curious facts she hears in a little book she keeps for the purpose."
The d.u.c.h.ess took it, with a n.o.ble art of her own, as if she hadn"t heard it; and while she was so occupied-for this involved a large deliberation-her daughter turned to Bessie. "My brother has told us of your being so clever."
"He should have said my sister," Bessie returned-"when she treats you to such flights as that."
"Shall you be long at Branches?" the d.u.c.h.ess abruptly asked of her.
Bessie was to have afterwards a vivid remembrance of wondering what her Grace (she was so glad d.u.c.h.esses had that predicate) would mean by "long." But she might as well somehow have wondered what the occupants of the planet Mars would. "He has invited us for three days."
"I think I must really manage it," the d.u.c.h.ess declared-"and my daughter too."
"That will be charming!"
"Delightful!" cried Mrs. Westgate.
"I shall expect to see a deal of you," the d.u.c.h.ess continued. "When I go to Branches I monopolise my son"s guests."
"They must give themselves up to you," said Mrs. Westgate all graciously.
"I quite yearn to see it-to see the Castle," Bessie went on to the larger lady. "I"ve never seen one-in England at least; and you know we"ve none in America."
"Ah, you"re fond of castles?"-her Grace quite took it up.
"Of the idea of them-which is all I know-immensely." And the girl"s pale light deepened for the a.s.surance. "It has been the dream of my life to live in one."
The d.u.c.h.ess looked at her as if hardly knowing how to take such words, which, from the ducal point of view, had either to be very artless or very aggressive. "Well," she said, rising, "I"ll show you Branches myself." And upon this the n.o.ble ladies took their departure.
"What did they mean by it?" Mrs. Westgate sought to know when they had gone.
"They meant to do the friendly thing," Bessie surmised, "because we"re going to meet them."
"It"s too late to do the friendly thing," Mrs. Westgate replied almost grimly. "They meant to overawe us by their fine manners and their grandeur; they meant to make you _lacher prise_."
"_Lacher prise_? What strange things you say!" the girl sighed as fairly for pain.
"They meant to snub us so that we shouldn"t dare to go to Branches," Mrs.
Westgate subst.i.tuted with confidence.
"On the contrary," said Bessie, "the d.u.c.h.ess offered to show me the place herself."
"Yes, you may depend upon it she won"t let you out of her sight. She"ll show you the place from morning till night."
"You"ve a theory for everything," our young woman a little more helplessly allowed.
"And you apparently have none for anything."
"I saw no attempt to "overawe" us," Bessie nevertheless persisted.
"Their manners weren"t fine."
"They were not even good!" Mrs. Westgate declared.
Her sister had a pause, but in a few moments claimed the possession of an excellent theory. "They just came to look at me!" she brought out as with much ingenuity. Mrs. Westgate did the idea justice; she greeted it with a smile and p.r.o.nounced it a credit to a fresh young mind; while in reality she felt that the girl"s scepticism, or her charity, or, as she had sometimes called it appropriately, her idealism, was proof against irony. Bessie, however, remained meditative all the rest of that day and well on into the morrow. She privately ached-almost as under a dishonour-with the aftersense of having been inspected in that particular way.
On the morrow before luncheon Mrs. Westgate, having occasion to go out for an hour, left her sister writing a letter. When she came back she met Lord Lambeth at the door of the hotel and in the act of leaving it.
She thought he looked considerably embarra.s.sed; he certainly, she said to herself, had no spring. "I"m sorry to have missed you. Won"t you come back?" she asked.
"No-I can"t. I"ve seen your sister. I can never come back." Then he looked at her a moment and took her hand. "Good-bye, Mrs.
Westgate-you"ve been very kind to me." And with what she thought a strange sad air on his handsome young face he turned away.
She went in only to find Bessie still writing her letter; find her, that is, seated at the table with the arrested pen in her hand. She put her question after a moment. "Lord Lambeth has been here?"
Then Bessie got up and showed her a pale serious face-bending it on her for some time, confessing silently and, a little, pleading. "I told him," the girl said at last, "that we couldn"t go to Branches."
Mrs. Westgate gave a gasp of temporary disappointment. "He might have waited," she nevertheless smiled, "till one had seen the Castle." An hour afterwards she spoke again. "I do wish, you know, you might have accepted him."
"I couldn"t," said Bessie, with the slowest gravest gentlest of headshakes.
"He"s really such a dear," Mrs. Westgate pursued.
"I couldn"t," Bessie repeated.
"If it"s only," her sister added, "because those women will think they succeeded-that they paralysed us!"
Our young lady turned away, but presently added: "They were interesting.
I should have liked to see them again."
"So should I!" cried Mrs. Westgate, with much point.
"And I should have liked to see the Castle," said Bessie. "But now we must leave England."
Her sister"s eyes studied her. "You won"t wait to go to the National Gallery?"
"Not now."