“Precisely! You are well aware of the great esteem in which Me Lord Beauchamp is likely to be held there, particularly by our friends, The Thorpes, Harrises, et al.”
“A proper entry will create quite a stir among the fashionable set,” remarked Jack reflectively.
“And give us opportunities to ‘work’ them some.”
“Are you agreed?”
“Yes,” responded Jack. “It will be a damn good joke, anyway,” and again he laughed, for as the horn of plenty flitted before his vision his spirits soared once more, above the measly depths of want and anxiety. “As an American,” he continued, “you have as much right to play the role of Lord, General or Judge as any other name by which your friends may be pleased to ‘dub’ you.”
CHAPTER I.
Within the perimeter of a great semi-circle window in a large luxuriously furnished room of a fashionable residence not far from 6666 Hill, in the city of Portland, two women sat reading.
It was an autumn afternoon, just after a light shower, a little warm but rarely matched for the unusual splendor of its soft, dreamy atmosphere—calm and clear as infinite space.
The incessant roar of the city’s commerce floated up and through the screened windows in muffled echoes, but the readers being accustomed to the sound, were undisturbed.
At length one of the readers, a girl who had not seen more than twenty summers, closed the book she had just finished reading and broke the silence with the remark: “Most interesting! A great story!”