“But she has a son!”
“My dear Jessica, a mother does not give balls for her son: she leaves that to other women!”
“They have lost a lot of money lately; old Mr. Somers is in his dotage, and has burnt his fingers badly over investments in South America, and the son must marry money. Both families wish him to marry”—here the fly rattled over a sheet of stones, and I lost the name. “His mother is quite determined about it. I don’t call her a good-looking girl, and I can’t imagine what any of the men see in her, except unlimited effrontery. She calls herself advanced. I call her abominably fast. She goes about everywhere alone, just as she pleases, hunts, and keeps race-horses. They say her style of conversation is most extraordinary. She shoots, smokes, fishes, and rules her poor father with a rod of iron. In fact, she is just like a young man!”
“Only, young men don’t generally rule their fathers with a rod of iron,” said the cousin, smartly.
“And I don’t believe that she keeps race-horses,” put in Miss Jessica.
“I should like to see her. I hope she will be at this place to-night,” remarked Mrs. Green. “If she is, you must be sure and point her out.”
“Oh, you may easily recognize her! She is always surrounded by a multitude of men, and you can hear her voice above the band!” rejoined Miss Benny. Then, suddenly, to me, “Are you asleep, Miss Hayes?”
“Oh no.”
“I’m afraid”—with a sigh—“you will find it rather dull to-night, as you are a stranger, and know so few people. However, you can amuse yourself looking at the pictures—they are all masterpieces, and there is sure to be a good supper.”
I made no reply. No doubt I must make up my mind to play the rôle of looker-on; I was well accustomed to the part.