“Don’t know her,” said the doctor—­“don’t know her; and—­excuse the barbarity—­don’t wish to know her.”

“Oh, but so charming!” cried Mr. Birch—­“and so kind!”

The doctor shook his head, and declared that great ladies were not to his taste.  “Poodles, sir, poodles! ’fed on cream and muffins!’—­there is no trusting them.”

“Poodles!” said Fanny, in astonishment.  “Why are duchesses like poodles?”

The doctor bowed to her.

“I give it up, Miss Merton.  Ask Sydney Smith.”

Fanny was mystified, and the sulky look appeared.

“Well, I know I should like to be a duchess.  Why shouldn’t one want to be a duchess?”

“Why not indeed?” said the doctor, helping himself to another oyster.  “That’s why they exist.”

“I suppose you’re teasing,” said Fanny, rather crossly.

“I am quite incapable of it,” protested the doctor.  “Shall we not all agree that duchesses exist for the envy and jealousy of mankind?”

“Womankind?” put in Diana.  The doctor smiled at her, and finished his oyster.  Brave child!  Had that odious young woman been behaving in character that morning?  He would like to have the dealing with her!  As for Diana, her face reminded him of Cowper’s rose “just washed by a shower”—­delicately fresh—­yet eloquent of some past storm.—­Good Heavens!  Where was that fellow Marsham?  Philandering with politics?—­when there was this flower for the gathering!

* * * * *

Luncheon was half-way through when a rattling sound of horses’ hoofs outside drew the attention of the table.

“Somebody else coming to lunch,” said Mr. Birch.  “Sorry for ’em, Miss Mallory.  We haven’t left ’em much.  You’ve done us so uncommon well.”

Diana herself looked in some alarm round the table.

“Plenty, my dear lady, plenty!” said the doctor, on her other hand.  “Cold beef, and bread and cheese—­what does any mortal want more?  Don’t disturb yourself.”

Diana wondered who the visitors might be.  The butler entered.

“Sir James Chide, ma’am, and Miss Drake.  They have ridden over from Overton Park, and didn’t think it was so far.  They told me to say they didn’t wish to disturb you at luncheon, and might they have a cup of coffee?”

Diana excused herself, and hurried out.  Mr. Birch explained at length to Mrs. Colwood and Fanny that Overton Park belonged to the Judge, Sir William Felton; that Sir James Chide was often there; and no doubt Miss Drake had been invited for the ball of the night before; awfully smart affair!—­the coming-out ball of the youngest daughter.

“Who is Miss Drake?” asked Fanny, thinking enviously of the ball, to which she had not been invited.  Mr. Birch turned to her with confidential jocosity.

“Lady Lucy Marsham’s cousin; and it is generally supposed that she might by now have been something else but for—­”