"When I go home we can correspond," she said to him, "and I will tell you all the new kinks. We are always improving."
"The duke looked positively rejuvenated," said Hexam, spitefully, as they walked down the corridor. "Have you discovered the elixir of life in California, and promised him the prescription."
"No," said Isabel, demurely. "I have merely been initiating him into the mysteries of raising Leghorns."
Hexam looked stupefied, but Miss Thangue burst into a merry peal of laughter.
"Isabel!" she exclaimed. "I begin to suspect you are a minx!"
And Isabel laughed, too, in sheer excess of animal spirits and gratified vanity. She had excellent cause to remember the ebullition, for it was some time before she laughed again.
The duchess, with her light sweet smile, her old-fashioned Book-of-Beauty style, a certain affectation of shabbiness in her black-and-silver gown, looked a more indispensable part of the picture than any of her guests, as she stood in the middle of the great drawing-room with a group of her more intimate friends. Among them was Lady Victoria, more normal of mood this evening, sufficiently gracious, superbly indifferent, although she had held her court as usual.
She tapped Isabel lightly on the cheek with her fan. "You were quite the rage," she said. "I never should have forgiven you if you had not been." And Isabel had not the slightest doubt of her sincerity.
The duchess, in the immensity of her castle, did not pretend to keep an eye on any one, and would have been the last to suspect that Miss Otis had inspired her husband with a sudden passion for chickens. She shook hands approvingly with the young American and asked her to come over informally to luncheon on the morrow.
"Is your head turning?" asked Miss Thangue, as they drove home. "You must reap the results of your success; it would be a pity not to. After a few weeks here with Vicky you must go on a round of visits and then have a season in London."