"I do not know, aunt, my acquaintance with the foreign nobility being limited."
"You have met them travelling,—those counts and countesses, dukes and duchesses,—you have seen that they have some bowels of compassion; but our rich people here,—they are grossly material. It is money, money, how much have you? What is the biggest piece of foolery you can perpetrate with it? Some day we shall have a labour war; the poor will rise up against them," and shaking her head and scolding to herself she started in the direction of her stables.
Chelda, with the train of her Parisian gown rustling daintily over the bare and polished steps of the staircase, went up to the top of the house, where she sat sunning her sleek, beautiful self and observing the country for miles around. Sometimes she picked up a field-glass beside her to better watch the movements of a stalwart pedestrian on the high-road.
"He has one devil now; Heaven grant that he may return with seven more," she murmured, joyfully.
CHAPTER VII.
A DRIVE WITH A STRANGE GUIDE.
Two women—two of Mrs. Prymmer's chosen friends and satellites—were calling on Derrice. Mrs. Prymmer had sent a message to her room, and now sat smoothing her white apron, enjoyably anticipating the effect that Derrice's red silk and cashmere gown would produce on her callers, yet at the same time a prey to secret annoyance to think that she herself was only of secondary importance.
To her chagrin, the girl sauntered into the room in a dull brown walking suit, and with a single eyeglass mischievously fixed under one light eyebrow.
Mrs. Prymmer was speechless. Such a thing had never before been heard of in the length and breadth of Rossignol,—that one human being should, through a solitary piece of glass, dare to stare at, examine, and confuse another human being not blessed with a single piece of glass. "The girl was as full of tricks as a monkey," she indignantly reflected.