The Duchess took it, with a noble art of her own, as if she hadn’t heard it; and while she was so occupied—for this involved a large deliberation—her daughter turned to Bessie. “My brother has told us of your being so clever.”
“He should have said my sister,” Bessie returned—“when she treats you to such flights as that.”
“Shall you be long at Branches?” the Duchess abruptly asked of her.
Bessie was to have afterwards a vivid remembrance of wondering what her Grace (she was so glad Duchesses had that predicate) would mean by “long.” But she might as well somehow have wondered what the occupants of the planet Mars would. “He has invited us for three days.”
“I think I must really manage it,” the Duchess declared—“and my daughter too.”
“That will be charming!”
“Delightful!” cried Mrs. Westgate.
“I shall expect to see a deal of you,” the Duchess continued. “When I go to Branches I monopolise my son’s guests.”
“They must give themselves up to you,” said Mrs. Westgate all graciously.
“I quite yearn to see it—to see the Castle,” Bessie went on to the larger lady. “I’ve never seen one—in England at least; and you know we’ve none in America.”