His wife looked again with a little more attention at the large figure of a lady, superbly clothed, who sat alone under a tree, and had that desolate air of “not being in it” which betrays the unelect.
“Nobody discovered her? Nobody taken her up?” she asked, still looking through her eye-glass.
“Well, old Khris a little; but Khris can’t get anybody on now. He does ’em more harm than good. He’s dead broke.”
His wife smiled.
“They must be new, indeed, if they don’t know that. Would they be rich enough to buy Vale Royal of Gerald?”
“Lord, yes; rich enough to buy a hundred Gerrys and Vales Royal. I know it for a fact from men in the City: they are astonishing—biggest income in the United States, after Vanderbilt and Pullman.”
“American, then?”
“No; made their ‘stiff’ there, and come home to spend it.”
“Name?”
“Massarene. Cotton to her if you can. There’s money to be made.”