If ever Mrs Girdwood had a surprise in her life, it was when Mr Swinton called at the Clarendon Hotel, and asked if she and her girls would accept an invitation to a reception at Lord —’s.
The entertainment was at the residence in Park Lane. The storekeeper’s widow gave her consent, without consulting her girls; and the invitation came on a sheet of tinted paper, bearing the well-known crest.
Mrs Girdwood went to the reception, the girls along with her; Julia carrying twenty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds upon her head and shoulders.
Otherwise they were as well-dressed as any British damsel who presented herself in his lordship’s drawing-rooms; and among these were the noblest in the land.
So far as appearance went, the American ladies had no need to be ashamed of the gentleman who escorted them. Though to them but plain Mr Swinton, Mrs Girdwood was subjected to a fresh shock of surprise, when the noble host, coming up to the group, accosted him as “My dear Count,” and begged an introduction to his companions.
It was gracefully given; and now for the first time in her life was Mrs Girdwood certain of being surrounded by true titled aristocracy.
There could be no deception about the people of that party, who were of all ranks known to “Burke’s British Peerage.” Nor could there be any doubt now, that Mr Swinton was a “somebody.”
“A count he is, and no mistake!” was Mrs Girdwood’s muttered soliloquy. “He isn’t a lord; he never said he was one. But a count’s the same thing, or the next to it.
“Besides, there are counts with great estates—far greater than some lords. Haven’t we heard so?”
The question was in a side whisper to Julia, after all three had been introduced to their august entertainer.