“Why?” asked Esmeralda again.
“Why? My dear child, how can you ask? Lord Trafford is the best parti in London. He is not only the Marquis of Trafford, but he will be the Duke of Belfayre. The dukedom is one of the oldest in England. Belfayre is one of the most magnificent places in Europe—in the world! My dear Esmeralda, you have done splendidly! I am proud of you!”
Esmeralda knit her brows.
“When did he do it? When you were alone, I suppose? I half thought he would, and that is why I didn’t go with you. Come and let me kiss you, dear! To think that you will be Duchess of Belfayre! Oh! I am so happy!”
“But it is not settled,” said Esmeralda. “It is all undecided. I only said I—I would think it over.”
Lady Wyndover looked at her in amazement.
“My dear girl!” she said; “don’t you understand? If you marry Lord Trafford, you will be the Marchioness of Trafford, and, presently, the Duchess of Belfayre, for the present duke can not last much longer!”
“I know,” said Esmeralda, pushing her hair from her brow. “But I do not care about all that. I don’t want to be a duchess particularly. I—I am quite happy as I am.”
Lady Wyndover stared at her.