“I went up just to fetch back the cat, and to say good-bye to the old place. ’Twas there I was reared.”
“Were you? Well, I must say you do it credit. So that was your home, until old Usher ferreted you out?”
She nodded.
“And how do you like your new quarters?”
“Well enough so far, thank you.”
“By Jove!”—looking her over—“she is a cool card—might have been here for years”; and he took in the well-cut gown, the dainty little shoe, the turquoise necklace, which so well became her dazzling white throat. Yes, the girl had evidently begun well, and made what is known on the turf, as a “flying start.”
It was a singular circumstance that whereas her tone and speech were distinctly common, she had nevertheless an indescribable air of good breeding—the strange, inimitable stamp of social superiority that cannot be acquired by any known process of education.
“And what became of the uproarious young man?” he inquired.
“Oh, he’s all right, for all I know,” she answered, with supreme indifference.
“Or care,” drawled Captain Deverell.