“Ah, you’re fond of castles?”—her Grace quite took it up.
“Of the idea of them—which is all I know—immensely.” And the girl’s pale light deepened for the assurance. “It has been the dream of my life to live in one.”
The Duchess looked at her as if hardly knowing how to take such words, which, from the ducal point of view, had either to be very artless or very aggressive. “Well,” she said, rising, “I’ll show you Branches myself.” And upon this the noble ladies took their departure.
“What did they mean by it?” Mrs. Westgate sought to know when they had gone.
“They meant to do the friendly thing,” Bessie surmised, “because we’re going to meet them.”
“It’s too late to do the friendly thing,” Mrs. Westgate replied almost grimly. “They meant to overawe us by their fine manners and their grandeur; they meant to make you lâcher prise.”
“Lâcher prise? What strange things you say!” the girl sighed as fairly for pain.
“They meant to snub us so that we shouldn’t dare to go to Branches,” Mrs. Westgate substituted with confidence.
“On the contrary,” said Bessie, “the Duchess offered to show me the place herself.”
“Yes, you may depend upon it she won’t let you out of her sight. She’ll show you the place from morning till night.”