rquise.
There were even bets among the valets as to how it was to end, and
Bertie's man, who looked as if he could speak volumes if he would, was a
person of importance.

All the men admired Miss Nelson extremely, but the women were divided in
opinion. Her own maid, a bilious Frenchwoman, with a jealous eye, said
that the American miss was _une petite chatte_, who was playing off Mr.
Stokes against the Duc de Divonne, and it was a pity that the handsome
young English monsieur could not be warned of her unworthiness. The duke
was not handsome, and he was neither young nor rich, but--these
Americans were out for titles, just as titles were out for American
money. Why else had the marriage of Madame la Marquise, Miss Daisy's
elder sister, made itself? Miss Daisy liked Mr. Stokes, but he could not
give her a title. The duke could--_if_ he would. But would he? She was
rich, but there were others richer. People said that he was wary. Yet he
admired Miss Daisy, it was true, and if by her flirtation with Mr.
Stokes she could pique him into a proposal, she would have her triumph.

This was only one of many dramas going on in the house, but it was the
most interesting to me, as to others, and I determined to look with all
my might at the duke and at pretty Miss Nelson, of whom I had only had a
glimpse on arriving. If she were really nice, I did hope that Bertie
wouldn't get her!

My costume pressed as weightily on her ladyship's mind, as if I had been
a favourite poodle about to be sent, all ribboned and clipped, to a dog
show. She did not forget the slippers and stockings, and the chauffeur
was ordered to take me into Clermont-Ferrand to buy them. Fortunately
she didn't know how much I looked forward to the excursion!

At precisely three o'clock I walked out to the castle garage, near the
stables, and found Jack getting the car ready; but I did not find him
alone. The garage is a big and splendid one, and not only were the three
household dragons in their stalls, but four or five strange beasts, pets
of visitors; and the finest of these (after our blue Aigle) was the
white Majestic of the Duc de Divonne. That gentleman, whom I recognized
easily from a description breathed into my ear by a countess's countess,
at luncheon, was in the garage when I arrived, showing off his
automobile to Miss Nelson. The ducal chauffeur lurked in the background,
duster in hand, and Mr. Herbert Stokes occupied as large a space as
possible in the