“Yes,” exclaimed her companion, looking up, “particularly in its treatment of the bogus Count. Indeed, it is realistic enough to be true.”
“So it appears!” replied the maid, “but just imagine such a thing to happen—as for instance a tramp to impersonate successfully Lord Beauchamp!”
“My Lord is a gentleman ‘to the manor born,’ and impossible of counterfeit.”
“I understand the reception by Mrs. Harris is to be given in his honor?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Thorpe, and smiling she went on: “He has promised to take tea with us today.”
“And do you know,” said Hazel in an awed tone, “he’s a Knight of the Order of the Garter? It is reported that he is to be married to a beautiful San Francisco girl.”
“I have heard it mentioned, but I hardly think his Lordship seeks a wife in America, because he is very wealthy.”
“But, Constance,—love is sometimes eccentric!”
“Quite true, when its underlying motive is mercenary. You remember Philip Rutley.”
“Constance!” exclaimed the girl, with a stamp of her foot. “You know the wise proverb, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’”