"An outrage upon strangers who wish to enjoy the country," chimed Mrs. Lewis.
"I should think people who live here—and many of them own most expensive cars—would protest. It doesn't seem fair to spoil good sport by such aggravating conditions," said Mrs. Hartley.
"Another biscuit, Ned dear; I am shamefully hungry." Gay Lewis, who had passed too many seasons of unavailable conquest to be accounted young by debutantes, leaned forward. "Dear Mrs. Hartley, take two. Such jolly biscuit, aren't they? Our hostess must indulge us all, we poor people who stop in a hotel."
She turned to Isabel, assiduously occupied with a steaming samovar. "You do it like an old hand; and I simply envy you this house." Miss Lewis swept the immense, rich room with alert eyes, keen to artistic values. "You were lucky. I am surprised that Mrs. Grant consented to rent. However, I am told that her stay abroad is apt to be protracted. You know she is most ambitious for her daughters?"
"Yes," assented Isabel, "she lives here only a few months each year."
"Is there a Mr. Grant?" asked Mrs. Hartley.
"Oh, dear yes; but he doesn't count. His wife has the money, and the taste, too," Miss Lewis volunteered.
"We must examine those antique brasses before we leave." Gay again addressed Mrs. Hartley. "Mrs. Grant has wonderful things," she explained.
"I always want to clean tarnished brass up a bit," the lady answered.
"Of course! I quite forgot your wonderful housekeeping."