“She’s not much like us,” said Mrs. Burr, briefly. “You’ll meet her in time; it’s odd you never happened to, even if you weren’t out. Of course she can’t go out for awhile yet; it would hardly be good taste, even if she wanted to.”
“How interestingly dreadful to have had such a thing in the family. But I should think she would be just the one to take life seriously.”
“Oh, she does; that’s the reason she doesn’t waste any time. Here is someone else. Who is it?—oh, Mary Gallatin.”
Augusta joined the group.
“Where is Mabel Creighton?” demanded one of the girls. “I thought she was coming with you.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Miss Forbes, with an air of elaborate indifference, drew her eyelids together as if to focus a half-dozen women that were entering. “The Duke of Bosworth arrives to-day, and she has stayed at home to receive him.”
“Augusta! What do you mean? What Duke of Bosworth?”
“There is only one duke of the same name at a time, my dear. This is the Duke of Bosworth of Aire Castle—and I suppose a half-dozen others—of the West Riding, of the district of Craven, of the County of Yorkshire, England. He has five other titles, I believe; and enjoys the honour of the friendship of Fletcher Cuyler.”
“Well!”
“Mabel met him abroad, and got to know him quite well; and when he wrote her that he should arrive to-day, she thought it only hospitable to stay at home and receive him.”