"They're gorgeous, Grandpapa dear."
"Are they so?" Grandpapa beamed at her, all his happiness returned. "So you
want me to tell you how to arrange them, eh?" And his satisfaction in being
appealed to was so intense that he held his head high. "Well, come on," and
he laughed gayly.
Mrs. Chatterton, newly arrived in the handsome suite of apartments Cousin
Horatio's hospitality always allowed her, looked out of the window, and,
having no one else to confide her opinions to, was not averse to chatting
with her French maid.
"Isn't it perfectly absurd, Hortense, to see that old man?--and to think
how particular and aristocratic he used to be! Why, I can remember when he
would hardly let Jasper speak to him in some of his moods, and now just see
that beggar girl actually holding his hand, and he laughing with her."
"A beggaire, is it?" cried Hortense, dropping the gown she was brushing, to
run to the window. "I see no beggaire, madame"--craning her neck.
"You needn't drop your work," said Mrs. Chatterton, with asperity, "just
because I made a simple remark. You know quite well whom I mean, Hortense.
It's that Polly Pepper I'm speaking of."
"She is not a beggaire, madame," declared Hortense pertly, opening her
black eyes very wide. "Oh!" She extended her hands and burst into a series
of shrill cackles. "Why, she's like all de oder children in dis house, and
I think truly, madame, de best.
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