Mr. Calthorp bowed gravely and respectfully; and, loosing Steenie’s hand, bade her make herself ready for the table as soon as possible. She held up her face for a kiss, then sped away, thinking she had never seen her father look so serious, and wondering why. “Was he afraid of a lord, too? And was the cor’net under the man’s hat?”
Customs were simple at Santa Felisa; for, till now, the household had been practically that of the manager alone, and, in default of an older person, Daniel Calthorp had liked to have his little daughter preside at table. So it seemed strange to none but Lord Plunkett himself when, a little later than usual, she entered the dining-room and took her usual place. Feeling she must honor such a wonderful occasion, she had taken uncommon pains with her toilet; and, fortunately, the guest was too indifferent to such matters to be shocked by the rather striking combination of a red sash, a blue throat-knot against the white frock, and a mass of reddish-brown curls bound into a stiff little knot by a band of green velvet.
Sutro followed her. As the oldest resident of the rancho, he felt that he fully understood the requirements of the hour; and he had also hastily arrayed himself in his gayest apparel, to take his place solemnly behind his little “señorita’s” chair. There he stood, perfectly motionless, apparently not noticing anybody,—even Steenie herself,—and reminding the amused Lord Plunkett of nothing in the world save one of the wooden figures outside a tobacconist’s shop.
A Chinese waiter, instructed and assisted by the valet, Dorsey, served the unexpected guest, and the housemaid attended to the others. But nobody ate very much except the stranger; for Mr. Calthorp was too busy answering his lordship’s questions, and Steenie too curiously regarding his lordship’s appearance.
Suddenly that gentleman looked up. “Well, Sissy! What d’ye think? Seem to be staring sharp. Children read folks. Hope you’ll like me. Fond of children. If they don’t talk. You don’t talk. Look as if you wished to. Out with it! Don’t be afraid.”
“Oh, no! I’m not afraid, now. Ought I to be? But, will you please tell me where you keep it? And why don’t you wear it?”
“Eh? How? Keep it? Wear it? What?”
“Your cor’net. Suzan´ says you can’t be a real lord, ’n’ess you have one.”
“Steenie!” reproved Mr. Calthorp, smiling in spite of himself.
“Good. Good. Let her alone. Hm-m. Coronet. Suzan´ ought to know. Well. Didn’t bring it.”