"Perfectly," replied Lord Bellingham, with a cold smile.
Archy felt rather flat, and looked reproachfully at Colonel Baskerville, who, he felt convinced, had robbed him of the pleasure of springing the sensation on his grandfather. But Mary and Isabel were left. Colonel Baskerville had not been cruel enough to deprive him of that delicious triumph over them.
"Do you know, Mary and Isabel?" he cried.
"No," replied Isabel, "but he was so graceful and agreeable. We told mamma we were sure he is a man of rank."
"So he is," shouted Archy, in reply.
"And there was something so romantic about him," chimed in Mary.
"When he showed us the portrait of Queen Marie Antoinette, we thought it might be possible—though I dare say it was foolish enough—that he might be the King's brother, the Comte d'Artois."
At this Archy capered with delight. Colonel Baskerville whispered something to Mrs. Langton, who started with surprise, but who laughed in her gentle way at the little comedy being played by Archy, whom she had learned to love, and Mary and Isabel.
"At all events, he was very civil," announced Isabel, "and I am sure I hope he liked the way we curtseyed. Oh, how easy it is to tell persons of rank and birth."
"Indeed, that is true," Mary echoed; "and I dare say, cousin Archy, your friend is very much opposed to these extraordinary American sympathies and notions of yours."