He sat on one side of Grace at dinner that first evening, and in the course of it—apparently accidentally—Miss Planter's name was mentioned. When Grace thought afterwards over what had passed, she felt sure that the accident was only apparent. Mr. Bloxsome had adroitly led the conversation up to the point when Grace's hand was forced, so to speak, and the "belle's" name dropped from her. He seized it.
"Clare Planter? Why, I know her quite well. I heard your brother was vurry intimate with her. Is that so?"
"My brother and I stayed at a country-house with her. That is the way of becoming intimate—if people like each other. And we both of us like Miss Planter."
"I reckon that's because she thinks such a heap of England and English people."
"Not entirely," replied Grace, coolly. "Of course we should not like her if she hated us."
"We find her ever so much spoiled since she crossed the ocean."
"Then she must have been very charming before."
"But Mrs. Planter is worse. She is a regular Anglomaniac. Won't call on any one in Pittsburgh now, I'm told. They are coming to Frisco in quite a few days. I guess you know that?"
"They spoke of the likelihood of going to California."
"Sir Mordaunt knows it is more than a 'likelihood,' I reckon. He will find Mr. Planter a stiff customer—not ready to come down with the oof, and not half as rich as he is supposed to be. Your brother is hunting around, I hear, for an Amurican heiress? Wull, you can just tell him this—no Amurican girl knows how rich she is till she can say, 'Our Father, which art in Heaven.'"