"He is the Earl of Blueberry. He is a postman."
"Well, in England he would not be likely to be that. At least, he might be Postmaster-General. Our nobility is for the most part rich, and they live in the finest houses, although some of them are obliged to work for their living."
"Obliged!" she echoed. "Don't they all exercise their right to work?"
"It is a right that has somewhat fallen into abeyance, but some of them do. Others prefer to amuse themselves. In fact, to make a clean breast of it, we all like to have plenty of money in England, so that we can live in nice houses, and go about and enjoy ourselves, and wear nice clothes, and eat and drink nice things."
A shade of disgust crossed her face. "How very different it all is to what I have been told!" she said. "But I am glad you told me about the eating and drinking. I thought you did what you did at lunch to please Mrs. Lemon, our cook."
I was a trifle disturbed at this speech. "Well, of course, that was partly the reason," I said. "And you mustn't run away with the idea that we encourage greediness. But surely, now, you must like living in a pretty house like this, with this lovely garden, better than being cooped up in a street!"
"Perhaps, if all one's friends did it," she said thoughtfully. "Don't your upper classes live in towns at all? Oh, but I forgot, there are no towns in the Highlands."
"There are in England. There is London. It is rather a big town. Our upper classes live there part of the year, if they can afford it. Some of them have country houses and town houses as well."
"At what time of the year do they go to their town houses?"
"Late spring and early summer are the times when things are at their gayest."