In spite of their already large party, the Miller girls good-naturedly invited Nancy to join them. She and Billy became immediate allies, and on the Sonnenberg links, laid the foundation of a lasting friendship.
"We are such a squad of women," she said to Nancy, "but it had to be all, or none; people get used to us, and find we are quite rural, and harmless. I think Mr. Holford, and Major Berners are becoming accustomed to Minna and Brenda, and I'm not the least surprised. At home, we thought little of their good looks! They were just nice, cheery, accomplished, girls. Minna has a lovely voice; but here, they stand out as beauties, and the Pater looks as proud as a peacock with two tails! They are the prettiest girls in Lucerne, bar yourself!"
"Oh, what nonsense!" Nancy protested, but Billy signed to her that she was about to make a drive, and thereby closed the argument!
At the Grand Hotel, Locarno, Mrs. De Wolfe again encountered neighbours; Lord and Lady Hillside, their son, and daughter; these were not merely neighbours, but connections,—and not only connections, but friends! It turned out, that Lord Hillside and Mrs. Ffinch were brother and sister, and on the strength of her intimacy with a relative, Nancy was welcomed by the family.
Lady Hillside had been an heiress: her fortune had paid off heavy mortgages on the estate, and repaired the dilapidated castle. So flourishing now were the Hillside concerns, that Theodore Lamerton, the heir, a young man in the Guards, was looked upon as a desirable parti. His mother, was a little woman with a yellow, haggard face, in which burned a pair of jet black eyes,—eyes of the reformer and fanatic.
Lady Hillside was feverishly energetic, and full of philanthropic plans: her name was well known on Boards, and Committees, and she cherished a secret passion for being, what is called "Chair." Her interests abroad, were so wide, and so various, that she could spare but little time for her own family;—in fact, she was something of an aristocratic Mrs. Jellaby. Her correspondence was enormous; she kept two secretaries, but rarely looked into her housekeeper's accounts—or answered what might be termed "a domestic letter."
Recently her health had broken down from overwork, and a specialist had ordered her abroad, with strict injunctions, as to absolute rest. Rest was impossible to a woman of her temperament! It was true that she now left correspondence in abeyance, but she was actively engaged in making a wonderful collection of seals and rings,—which enterprise carried her far, and wide.
Lord Hillside, a handsome, bearded individual, a great authority on Egyptology, lived much to himself, and took his walks apart. With his chiselled aquiline features and well-trimmed beard, he might almost have passed for an Egyptian Tetrarch himself. Next to Egyptology—and Rameses the Second, his chief interest in life was his daughter Josephine Speyde, a widow of eight and twenty. "Josie," as she was called, had not inherited the family good looks, but had been endowed with some of her father's brains, and more of her mother's inexhaustible energy,—which in her case, took the form of a tireless pursuit of amusement. In appearance she was thin, and hipless; her complexion was sallow; a pair of magnificent black eyes illuminated a long, but expressive countenance. Such was her art in dress, and deportment, that she actually persuaded her world, that she was as handsome as she was amusing, and otherwise attractive. Married at twenty to a distant cousin, the alliance had proved unfortunate, and as Josie herself confessed, "they had found one another out too soon." She was restless, capricious, and extravagant: Victor Speyde was dissipated, ill-tempered, and jealous.
The relatives put their heads together, and predicted "trouble," but the death of Captain Speyde in a motor accident, relieved their apprehensions, and liberated his wife. As a widow, with an independent income, she returned to live with her parents,—a changed young woman, who had seen the seamy side of life; she rode hard, smoked incessantly, and had the reputation for a keen appetite for adventure, and stories, more or less risky! Mrs. Speyde belonged to a smart Bridge Club, possessed a car, and a latch-key—and claimed all the prerogatives of a self-chaperoning widow,—whilst enjoying as she described, "a really topping time."
Possibly because they were such a complete contrast in appearance and character, Mrs. Speyde took a violent fancy to Nancy Travers, called her by her christian name the second time they met, graciously instructed her in a new style of hairdressing, offered her the name of a very private dressmaker, and imparted amusing information respecting the affairs,—love and otherwise,—of her very dearest friends.