Saunders was heels over head in love with Miss Pelham at this time, so it is not surprising that he had some sort of an idea about marriage, no matter whom it concerned.

Night after night, the Deppinghams and Brownes gave dinners, balls, musicales, “Bridges,” masques and theatre suppers at the chateau.  First one would invite the other to a great ball, then the other would respond by giving a sumptuous dinner.  Their dinners were served with as much punctiliousness as if the lordliest guests were present; their dancing parties, while somewhat barren of guests, were never dull for longer than ten minutes after they opened.  Each lady danced twice and then pleaded a headache.  Whereupon the “function” came to a close.

For a while, the two hostesses were not in a position to ask any one outside their immediate families to these functions, but one day Mrs. Browne was seized by an inspiration.  She announced that she was going to send regular invitations to all of her friends at home.

“Regular written invitations, with five-cent stamps, my dear,” she explained enthusiastically.  “Just like this:  ’Mrs. Robert Browne requests the pleasure of Miss So-and-so’s company at dinner on the 17th of Whatever-it-is.  Please reply by return steamer.’  Won’t it be fun?  Bobby, please send down to the bank for the stamps.  I’m going to make out a list.”

After that it was no unusual thing to see large packages of carefully stamped envelopes going to sea in the ships that came for the mail.

“And I’d like so much to meet these native Americans that you are asking,” said Lady Agnes sweetly, and without malice.  “I’ve always wondered if the first families over there show any trace of their wonderful, picturesque Indian blood.”

“Our first families came from England, Lady Deppingham,” said Drusilla, biting her lips.

“Indeed?  From what part of England?” Of course, that query killed every chance for a sensible discussion.

One morning during the first week in February, the steamer from Aden brought stacks of mail—­the customary newspapers, magazines, novels, telegrams and letters.  It was noticed that her ladyship had several hundred letters, many bearing crests or coats-of-arms.

At last, she came to a letter of many pages, covered with a scrawl that looked preposterously fashionable.

“Nouveau riche,” thought Drusilla Browne, looking up from her own letters.  Lady Agnes gave a sudden shriek, and, leaping to her feet, performed a dance that set her husband and Bobby Browne to gasping.

“She’s coming!” she cried ecstatically, repeating herself a dozen times.

“Who’s coming, Aggie?” roared her husband for the sixth time.

“She!”

“She may be a steamship for all I know, if—­”

“The Princess!  Deppy, I’m going to squeeze you!  I must squeeze somebody!  Isn’t it glorious?  Now—­now!  Now life will be worth living in this beastly place.”