Lady Mulgrave glanced frequently at Joseline; she was a remarkable object, and Captain Deverell’s eyes strayed to her too. The girl seemed to be both beautiful and discreet. She scarcely spoke, she scarcely ate, but crumbled bread and uttered monosyllables. Once she assured a man-servant that “she wanted no more sauce—she had lashings!” What were lashings? “Oh, if she would only talk!” said Lady Mulgrave to herself. Some one had been advising her to hold her tongue. However, her hands were red; she had upset her neighbour’s champagne, eaten her neighbour’s bread, and dropped her spoon. Yet, when all was said, the peasant girl had undergone the ordeal of her first dinner-party, with respectable self-possession.
After dinner, Joseline was formally presented to various important dowagers in the drawing-room, who found the girl pretty, well turned out, but oh! so stupid! She scarcely opened her lips.
Then the men came crowding in, conversation became general, bridge-tables were set out, and Joseline found her tongue.
“Do you play bridge?” inquired Captain Deverell, sinking into a seat beside Joseline, whilst another man hovered near.
“No, I never heard tell of it till to-day,” she answered; “and is it with a ball, or what?”
“No; with cards.” Then, speaking as to a child, “You know cards—playing cards?”
“Yes, and like them finely too. I’ve never heard of the game you mean, but I know ‘spoil fire’ and ‘beating Jack out of town.’”
“That must be a most exciting game,” drawled her cousin. “How many beat him? Not more than one at a time, I hope?”
“As many as likes; it makes no odds.”
“Are you fond of motoring?” inquired a man who did not see why Deverell should engross the beauty.