Her last “official” act that night was to call the three servants into the dining-room and give them a final lecture on their duties to themselves, to each other, and to their master and mistress.
“And let me impress this fact upon you,” she said, gravely; “the young lady of this house is not a Marylander. She is not even an American. She is a Portuguese West Indian, and a countess by birth and inheritance. You are not to address her, or speak of her, as Miss Glo’. I won’t have it! You are to speak of her as the Countess Gloria. Remember that!”
Then, after some other instructive discourses, the old lady distributed some presents among them and dismissed the party.
The next morning Miss de Crespigney left Promontory Hall in the old family traveling carriage, driven by Laban as far as St. Inigoes, where she was to meet the stage-coach that was to take her to Baltimore.
Her directions to the servants in regard to Miss de la Vera’s Portuguese birth and rank were remembered with simple indignation by the two women, ’Phia and Lamia, who did not know a Portuguese from a portemonnaie, or a countess from a counterpane.
“Call our Miss Glo’ countess, indeed! Sha’n’t do no sich fing! ’Deed, I fink it would be downright undespectful to call our young lady countess, as nebber had the trouble ob countin’ de chickens, or de ducks, or anyfing on de place, all her blessed life,” exclaimed ’Phia, wrathfully beating out her excitement on the feather pillow of the bed she was helping her daughter to make up.
“What Miss Aggravater means by it, anyways?” scornfully inquired Lamia.
“Contrariness, nuffin’ else!” replied ’Phia, giving the pillow a portentous whack with her fists.
And from that time they continued to call the golden-haired girl Miss Glo’, and nothing else.
Meanwhile Gloria and her uncle lived together day after day, and week after week, and never seemed to tire of each other, or to desire any other society.