Indiana gave her an angelic smile. "I am so grateful to you. Lady Canning has given me the real English taste in the selection of a gown," parading before Lord Stafford, who, inserting his monocle, inspected her seriously. "Dowdy, isn't it?" she whispered, as Lady Canning bent over the fire, warming her hands. "I adore Irish poplins, Scotch plaids, English cheviots—and seed-cake. My first bonnet! Isn't it a love?" She tossed her head waggishly in Lord Stafford's face, so that a bunch of Prince-of-Wales feathers tickled his nose. "So unbecoming!" she added in his ear. Lady Canning turned, with an expression of smiling satisfaction.
"In my time, dear, as soon as a girl married, she wore a bonnet with strings. That's always the sign of a matron in England. You know there must be something to distinguish the married from the single woman."
"Yes, certainly, I approve of it," said Indiana. "Then there can be no fear of any mistakes being made by strangers." She heaved a deep sigh of conscious virtue. Lord Stafford dropped his monocle and fell into a chair, laughing unrestrainedly.
"You've caught on, Indiana! Ha, ha, ha, ha! As they say in the States—you've mashed them cold all 'round! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"
"Dear Nelson," said Lady Canning, severely, "what do you mean by such expressions? They appear to me very vulgar. Is it really American, Indiana?"
"Not at all, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana, reassuringly. "Those expressions you have just heard," she shivered slightly, "are mere barbarisms. They are used only by the natives of the uncultivated wastes."
"The natives. A sort of dialect, I suppose, my darling. Go and lay off your bonnet and smooth your hair."
Indiana pouted rebelliously at Thurston. "May I go?" Sweetly, "Thank you very much."
She kissed Lady Canning and walked demurely to the door.
"Remarkable!" murmured Lord Stafford.