"Not according to the Rossignol people. It is the thing to live down the river, up on Blaine Street where you do, or across it, as near the Potts as they will let you. No one lives up here but ourselves and the poor cottagers who work in the mills farther up. But then the Gastonguays never do things like other people," and she admonished the pony to take them through the gates of the avenue, instead of stopping short and staring into the cart, to see if he could find an explanation for the unexpected blow he had received in the town.
"It is curious,—the limitations in choosing a home," said Derrice. "A stranger coming into a place does not understand."
Miss Gastonguay did not reply. She had been struck with sudden taciturnity, and, throwing down the lines, allowed the pony to guide them to the spot where he chose that they should alight. It happened to be in front of the lowest of the steps leading to the house, and Derrice, observing him narrowly, remarked, "This seems to be an intelligent animal."
"He isn't an animal," said Miss Gastonguay, abruptly, "he is a fairy prince. One day when I was a witch he offended me, and I changed him from a beautiful young man into this shape. Then I forgot the charm and couldn't effect the transformation, so I keep him about, hoping I may some day remember it. Here, prince, help me off with my coat," and slipping the bit from the animal's mouth, she extended an arm.
To Derrice's amusement the small animal daintily nodded his head, then deliberately drawing off the man's coat from Miss Gastonguay's shoulders, held it in his teeth, and politely extended it to her. "Now run away to the stable," she said, and lightly turning the cart on one wheel, he trotted down the drive.
CHAPTER VIII.
OF MIXED BLOOD.
Upon crossing the threshold of the house, Derrice found herself in an interior evidently copied from the French. The floors were of hard wood, a few handsome rugs lay about them; there was an abundance of carving and gilding in the drawing-room that they entered, two gilt clocks, two mirrors, and a trio of high-backed yellow silk sofas. A number of white and gold spindle-legged chairs stood in various graceful attitudes about the room; there were but few hangings and draperies, and scarcely a cushion to be seen.
"I hate dust," said Miss Gastonguay, in an explanatory way, "and upholstered furniture and gewgaws all over parlour walls make me ill. The Japanese are the only people who know how to furnish a house. You like this room, don't you?"