“Douglas van Tuiver has a house,” replied Bates.
“Surely you are jesting!”
“No! I’ll show it to you, Miss Castleman.”
“Who is Douglas van Tuiver?”
The men glanced at one another. “Haven’t you ever heard of the van Tuivers?” asked one.
“Who are they?” countered Sylvia, who never lied when she could avoid it.
“They are one of our oldest families,” said Shackleford—who came from New York. “Also one of the best known.”
“Well,” said Sylvia, duly rebuked, “you see how very provincial I am.”
“He’s a nephew of Mrs. Harold Cliveden,” ventured Harmon.
“Cliveden?” repeated Sylvia. “I think I’ve heard that name.” She kept a straight face—though the lady was the reigning queen of Newport, and a theme of the society gossip of all American newspapers. Then, not to embarrass her friends by too great ignorance, she hurried on, “But you surely don’t mean that this man has a house all to himself?”