Lady Wyndover laughed.
“Reach me that ‘Society Chatter’—yes, the paper on the chair.”
She opened it, and handed it back, pointing to a paragraph, and Esmeralda read:
“Miss Chetwynde, the granddaughter and heiress of the famous millionaire, Mr. Gordon Chetwynde, whose discovery in the wilds of Australia by Mr. Pinchook, the well-known solicitor, was attended by so much romance, is staying with her guardian, Lady Wyndover. Miss Chetwynde is at present ‘resting’ after her long journey, but it is hoped that she will before long be introduced into society, which will be delighted to welcome a young lady who is not only possessed of something over two millions, but, if rumor be true, is also endowed by the gods with the supreme gifts of youth and beauty.”
“There, you see!” said Lady Wyndover, as Esmeralda looked up from the paper with astonishment. “You see what a great deal is expected of us.”
“Why does this man write all this about me?” inquired Esmeralda. “It’s—it’s as if I were a—a circus!”
“So you are, my dear,” said Lady Wyndover, with her languid smile. “Better than a circus—far better!”
“If—if this man had put this into one of the Ballarat papers, Varley or one of the boys would have shot him,” remarked Esmeralda, with a flash of her eyes.
“Then I’m glad ‘Varley’ and none of ‘the boys’ are here!” said Lady Wyndover. “My dear, we all get into the paper nowadays, and most of us are bitterly disappointed if we get left out. People like to read about us—I mean by ‘us’ the upper class, and we like to read about each other—it’s the fashion. You’ll soon get used to seeing your name in print, I assure you. And now let me tell you what you are to do to-morrow—what you are not to do. Thank Heaven, you are naturally such good form that you only want a few hints about quite little things. About shaking hands, now, dear. You hold out your hand in the old-fashioned way; no one does that now. It’s in this way, see?”