“Then I—I prayed,” she whispered.
The Duchess of Kilkenty took her hand and pressed it gently.
“May your prayers always be answered so quickly, my child,” she said, and sighed.
The others had not heard the conversation between Mary and the Duchess. Their attention had been attracted by two footmen, whether the same or others, they could not say; they all looked exactly alike. These important personages, however, bore each a silver tray loaded with the tea things. A third footman followed and drew up two mahogany tables on which the trays were placed. And in the midst of this most welcome interruption, for they were almost faint with hunger, the parrot began to scream:
“Tea, tea, tea. I must have my tea. Polly wants her tea.”
“Will you be quiet, Polly?” exclaimed Beatrice. “I shall give you your tea in a moment.”
“Indeed,” said the wise old bird. “Dear me, I’m sorry I spake.”
There was a general laugh at this and suddenly the company began to feel very much at home. The Duchess, after all, was not a grand, forbidding person, as they had always imagined duchesses were. She was a sweet, simple little old lady not half so fine as her servants, and she seemed most interested in these American visitors. She insisted on hearing all about their motor trips and asked the girls a hundred questions, while they sipped tea and consumed sandwiches and strawberries with clotted cream and cookies, very different from American cookies because they were not sweet.
“Does one carry firearms in America?” she asked Miss Campbell.
“Oh, no,” replied Miss Campbell suppressing a smile, “we are not such a wild country as you think. It is unlawful to carry concealed weapons, and of course one would never think of carrying a pistol in one’s belt.”