“Duty reminds me that I’m to meet Ross, the head keeper, at eleven-thirty,” said Lord Mulgrave, “so I must be off; and I leave you two girls together. Tito will take you in hand, Joseline, and coach you a bit. I’ll see you at lunch.” And he went out.
“Sit down in that comfy chair,” said Tito, extending an authoritative cigarette, “and let us have a talk. I suppose the earl has been doing the grand tour. Tell me what do you think of the pictures? Aren’t they splendid?”
“Oh, yes,” she assented, without enthusiasm, “grand.”
“The Cavalier on the black horse is worth ten thousand pounds.”
“Holy saints! Did father pay all that money?”
“No, goosey. The Cavalier is an ancestor—a most valuable one, too. If he were mine, I’d sell him like a shot. They are all your ancestors.”
“How strange! I never heard the word itself spoken till last week. Where are the other people?”
“Mother is in bed; she never shows till lunch; she has her toilette, and her little dog, and her letters. Lady Max is an early bird, but she breakfasts in her boudoir; she has a mighty correspondence—political and philanthropic. The girls are out—both golf mad. Griselda is a champion; the rest of the crowd were only neighbours. There is another big spread to-night, and a shoot to-morrow.”
“Oh!”—and Joseline relapsed into silence, and sat staring at the fire.
“Now, come, let’s talk, and get to know one another,” said Tito briskly. “You begin.”