“And where would you find such a lineage in the State as his?” vehemently interrupted Wynnette. “His pedigree can be traced back, step by step, to the Sieur Louis de Grandiere, who came over to England in the year 1420, in the suit of Katherine of Valois, queen of Henry the Fifth; though, of course, that tells but little. He was probably a gentleman in waiting, though he might have been a horse boy!”
“He was a gentleman in waiting on the queen. He was a nobleman of Provence,” replied quaint little Rosemary, craning her neck in defense of her ancestor.
“Oh, he was! Well, I always thought so! But that is more than can be said of Mr. Roland Bayard!” said Wynnette, maliciously.
Rosemary flushed to the edges of her curly black hair.
“I do not know what he has to do with the question,” she murmured.
“Only this, my love: that while we are taking sweet counsel together, and you are giving me the benefit of your wisdom in regard to Mr. Samuel Elk Grandiere, I might reciprocate by giving you a friendly warning in respect to Mr. Roland Bayard!”
“Oh, Wynnette!” cried Rosemary, deprecatingly, while the color deepened all over her face and neck.
“Nobody knows who he is! He was washed ashore from the wreck of the Carrier Pigeon, the only one saved. He was adopted by Miss Sibby, good soul, and he was educated at the expense of Mr. Force, generous man! Why, he was not only homeless, friendless and penniless, but he was nameless until the name of Roland Bayard was given him by Mr. Force and Miss Sibby, who were his sponsors in baptism!”
“Oh! oh! Wynnette! No one can look at Roland Bayard without seeing that he must be of princely lineage! He is very handsome, and graceful and accomplished! He is refined, cultured, intellectual!” pleaded Rosemary.
“Don’t see it! He has been through college and he has plenty of modest assurance, which prevents him from being bashful and awkward, as some of his betters are. But all the same, he is nobody’s son!”