Keith found, on his arrival in the drawing-room, that the house was full of company, a sort of house-party assembled for the hunting.
Suddenly there was a stir, followed by a hush in the conversation, and monocles and lorgnons went up.
"Here she comes," said a man near Keith.
"Who is she?" asked a thin woman with ugly hands, dropping her monocle with the air of a man.
"La belle Américaine," replied the man beside her, "a friend of the host."
"Oh! Not of the hostess?"
"Oh, I don't know. I met her last night--"
"Steepleton is ahead--wins in a walk."
"Oh, she's rich? The castle needs a new roof? Will it be in time for next season?"
The gentleman said he knew nothing about it.