“I find she is the one I’ve met. But she seems to be so different here. I can’t make it out,” said Count Otto.
There was something in his expression that again moved Mrs. Bonnycastle to mirth. “How we do puzzle you Europeans! You look quite bewildered.”
“I’m sorry I look so—I try to hide it. But of course we’re very simple. Let me ask then a simple earnest childlike question. Are her parents also in society?”
“Parents in society? D’où tombez-vous? Did you ever hear of the parents of a triumphant girl in rose-colour, with a nose all her own, in society?”
“Is she then all alone?” he went on with a strain of melancholy in his voice.
Mrs. Bonnycastle launched at him all her laughter.
“You’re too pathetic. Don’t you know what she is? I supposed of course you knew.”
“It’s exactly what I’m asking you.”
“Why she’s the new type. It has only come up lately. They have had articles about it in the papers. That’s the reason I told Mrs. Steuben to bring her.”
“The new type? What new type, Mrs. Bonnycastle?” he returned pleadingly—so conscious was he that all types in America were new.