CHAPTER III
Within a very few days of their “settling down” at Rose Lea, everybody in the neighbourhood,—that is to say, everybody of “county” standing—that height of social magnificence—had left their cards on Mr. and Mrs. Polydore May. They had, of course, previously made the usual private “kind inquiries,”—first as to the newcomers’ financial position, and next as to their respectability, and both were found to be unimpeachable. One of the most curious circumstances in this curious world is the strictness with which certain little bipeds inquire into the reported life and conduct of other little bipeds, the inquisitors themselves being generally the most doubtful characters.
“Funny little man, that Mr. May!” said the woman leader of the “hunting set,” who played bridge all day and as far into the night as she could. “Like a retired tradesman! Must have sold cheese and butter at some time of his life!”
“Oh, no!” explained a male intimate, whose physiognomy strangely resembled that of the fox he chased all the winter. “He made his pile in copper.”
“Oh, did he? Then he’s quite decent?”
“Quite!”
“That daughter of his——”
Here a snigger went round the “county” company. They were discussing the new arrivals at their afternoon tea.
“Poor old thing!”
“Must be forty if she’s a day!”