"My dear Lady Theobald," cried her visitor, rising, "I hope you are well. I have just been complimenting Lucia upon her pretty dress, and her new style of dressing her hair. Miss Octavia Bassett has been giving her the benefit of her experience, it appears. We have not been doing her justice. Who would have believed that she had come from Nevada to improve us?"
"Miss Octavia Bassett," said my lady sonorously, "has come from Nevada to teach our young people a great many things,—new fashions in duty, and demeanor, and respect for their elders. Let us hope they will be benefited."
"If you will excuse me, grandmamma," said Lucia, speaking in a soft, steady voice, "I will go and write the letters you wished written."
"Go," said my lady with majesty; and, having bidden Mrs. Burnham good-morning, Lucia went.
If Mrs. Burnham had expected any explanation of her ladyship's evident displeasure, she was doomed to disappointment. That excellent and rigorous gentlewoman had a stern sense of dignity, which forbade her condescending to the confidential weakness of mere ordinary mortals. Instead of referring to Lucia, she broached a more commonplace topic.
"I hope your rheumatism does not threaten you again, Mrs. Burnham," she remarked.
"I am very well, thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Burnham; "so well, that I am thinking quite seriously of taking the dear girls to the garden-party, when it comes off."
"To the garden-party!" repeated her ladyship. "May I ask who thinks of giving a garden-party in Slowbridge?"
"It is no one in Slowbridge," replied this lady cheerfully. "Some one who lives a little out of Slowbridge,—Mr. Burmistone, my dear Lady Theobald, at his new place."
"Mr. Burmistone!"