The mother and daughter wore for a few minutes a somewhat uneasy air.  They were evidently sociable persons, but were not quite sure how to begin a conversation with an as yet unintroduced lady who was going to stay at the country house to which they were themselves invited.

Emily herself solved the problem, producing her commonplace with a friendly tentative smile.

“Isn’t it a lovely country?” she said.

“It’s perfect,” answered the mother.  “I’ve never visited Europe before, and the English country seems to me just exquisite.  We have a summer place in America, but the country is quite different.”

She was good-natured and disposed to talk, and, with Emily Fox-Seton’s genial assistance, conversation flowed.  Before they were half-way to Mallowe, it had revealed itself that they were from Cincinnati, and after a winter spent in Paris, largely devoted to visits to Paquin, Doucet, and Virot, they had taken a house in Mayfair for the season.  Their name was Brooke.  Emily thought she remembered hearing of them as people who spent a great deal of money and went incessantly to parties, always in new and lovely clothes.  The girl had been presented by the American minister, and had had a sort of success because she dressed and danced exquisitely.  She was the kind of American girl who ended by marrying a title.  She had sparkling eyes and a delicate tip-tilted nose.  But even Emily guessed that she was an astute little person.

“Have you ever been to Mallowe Court before?” she inquired.

“No; and I am so looking forward to it.  It is so beautiful.”

“Do you know Lady Maria very well?”

“I’ve known her about three years.  She has been very kind to me.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have taken her for a particularly kind person.  She’s too sharp.”

Emily amiably smiled.  “She’s so clever,” she replied.

“Do you know the Marquis of Walderhurst?” asked Mrs. Brooke.

“No,” answered Miss Fox-Seton.  She had no part in that portion of Lady Maria’s life which was illumined by cousins who were marquises.  Lord Walderhurst did not drop in to afternoon tea.  He kept himself for special dinner-parties.

“Did you see the man who drove away in the high cart?” Mrs. Brooke continued, with a touch of fevered interest.  “Cora thought it must be the marquis.  The servant who met him wore the same livery as the man up there”—­with a nod toward the box.

“It was one of Lady Maria’s servants,” said Emily; “I have seen him in South Audley Street.  And Lord Walderhurst was to be at Mallowe.  Lady Maria mentioned it.”

“There, mother!” exclaimed Cora.

“Well, of course if he is to be there, it will make it interesting,” returned her mother, in a tone in which lurked an admission of relief.  Emily wondered if she had wanted to go somewhere else and had been firmly directed toward Mallowe by her daughter.