“You’re right there, Buller,” said the Surgeon. “Wonderfully queenly she is! That fur cloak looks like an ermine robe on her.”
“I don’t think you’d like to see me in it!” tittered his wife.
“I don’t say I should,” returned the Surgeon, rather smartly.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Buller, “you must make up your mind to be jealous of the Duchess. All gentlemen are mad about her.”
“The Duchess!” said Mrs. O’Connor, in a tone of respect. “I thought you said——”
“Oh, she is not really a duchess, my dear; it’s only a nickname. I’ll tell you all about it some day. It’s a long story.”
Discovering that Mrs. Vandaleur was a family connection, and not a chance visitor from the neighbourhood, Mrs. O’Connor apologized for her remarks, and tried to extract the Duchess’s history from Aunt Theresa then and there. But Mrs. Buller would only promise to tell it “another time.”
“I’m dying with curiosity,” said Mrs. O’Connor, as she took leave, “I shall run in to-morrow afternoon on purpose to hear all about it. Can you do with me, dear Mrs. Buller?”
“Pray come,” said Aunt Theresa warmly, with an amiable disregard of two engagements and some arrears of domestic business.
I was in the drawing-room next day when Mrs. O’Connor arrived.