“What were they?” asked Beatrice, greatly diverted.
“Oh, pieces of handsome jewelry. By the way, I saw Margaret Macallister there flirting outrageously. That nice Mr. Tillinghast is very attentive to her.”
“He has been in love with her for years. But Peggy flouts him, as she does all the rest.”
“To take up with a broken stick in the end, I suppose. Well, it’s a pity young Tillinghast is wasting his time. Mrs. Macallister would never consent to her marrying a poor man when a title is in sight.”
“You are wrong, Mrs. Curtis,” said Beatrice, politely but positively. “Mrs. Macallister is a woman of the world, not a worldly woman. She is devoted to her granddaughter, and would not let money considerations interfere with Peggy’s future happiness.”
“Still, my dear, Count de Morny is a matrimonial prize. Perhaps he will win her after all, the diplomats have such charming, delightful manners—a great contrast to our men.”
“Quite true, Mrs. Curtis; but personally give me an American every time. Our men may not know parlor tricks, but they are tender, loyal and brave.” Beatrice spoke with unwonted feeling.
“Hoity-toity, child, don’t get so excited. I meant no particular criticism of our men. Haven’t I a dear old bear at home, whom I’d positively hate if he wasn’t an American. Mercy on us, it’s nearly six o’clock, I must run along. Good-by, my dear,” kissing Beatrice with unusual tenderness. “Keep a good heart.” And she bustled out of the house.
Beatrice walked rather slowly back to the library. She was deeply touched as well as surprised by Mrs. Curtis’ blunt kindness. “From those we expect the least, we get the most,” she thought bitterly, while gathering up her workbag preparatory to going to her room.
“May I come in for a moment?” asked a voice from the doorway. Beatrice glanced with some astonishment at the speaker, and answered quietly: