Presently Griselda received a nudge from one of the young ladies' rather sharp elbows:
"Pray, miss, who's that fine gentleman walking with? He is looking this way. Bab, don't giggle, I think he was speaking of us."
"Who is the lady?"
"The Marchioness of Lothian," Griselda said.
"Lor', ma; do you hear?" Miss Barbara exclaimed, leaning across Griselda, "that's a Marchioness!"
It really gave these good people intense pleasure to be in the same room with those who rejoiced in titles. It gave Mrs. Greenwood a sense of added importance, and made her even dream of the possibility of some lord falling in love with Bab. Thus a return to the remote country town of Widdicombe Episopi, where Mr. Greenwood farmed his own acres, and lived in a house which had come down to the Greenwoods from the time of Charles II., would be a triumphal return indeed.
"I shouldn't wonder, miss, if you was a titled lady," Mrs. Greenwood said, as the music stopped, and conversation in more subdued tones was possible.
Griselda smiled.
"No, I have no title of honour," she said.
"Ah, well! you look as if you might have, and that's something. I do like to see a genteel air; as I say to Bab and Bell, it's half the battle—it's more than a pretty face. We are come to Bath for Bell's health. She has been so peaky and puling of late. Do you take the waters, miss?"