“Yes,” acquiesced her cousin, with unflattering emphasis, “an infernal nuisance.”
So that was Dudley’s verdict. She was an infernal nuisance! She halted for a moment to digest this fact. It was now time for the lunch at the keeper’s cottage, and she encountered most of the party on their way to the rendezvous as she once more emerged into the open.
“Lady Mulgrave, is it possible that I see you refusing our standing dish, Irish stew?” said Dudley Deverell.
“I believe I shall have enough elsewhere,” she answered, with significance. “What do you think of your new cousin?” she continued, as she helped herself carefully to cutlets.
“I am not prepared to give an opinion at such short notice.”
“Then I gather that it is not a case of love at first sight?”
“I don’t believe in that humbug; and besides, I saw her in Ireland.”
“Yes, by chance--as Mary Foley. I had not the smallest idea who she was then.”
“Oh, a pretty, saucy, country girl, with lots to say for herself. I never was so amazed as when I discovered her last night in the drawing-room! You could have floored me with the traditional feather!”
“She does not talk much now,” said Lady Mulgrave. “Evidently she has been advised, that silence is best.”
“It must be a trial, for I heard a man describe her as ‘the gabbiest little divil in the country.’”
“Oh, I expect she will soon find her tongue.”
“And her feet?” supplemented Captain Deverell.
“I’m not so sure of that; it takes some time to rub off twenty-one years of the cabin.”
“Except when she spills things over people, and breaks wine-glasses. You don’t think her pretty, surely?”
“Yes; very pretty, in an uncommon style.”
“A very uncommon style. What a mixture--French, English--reared in Ireland!”
“Dear me! I had no notion that she had any ideas at all.”
“Oh, yes; with regard to shooting, and idle young men, who won’t do a hand’s turn!”
“Nonsense! How amusing! You and she must have become delightfully confidential among the laurels! She is a frightful flirt; any one can see that with half an eye.”
“Oh, but you will. Oh, she’ll try her prentice hand--and a red hand it is!--on you, of course!”
“Pretty well. You know Tito has the temper of an angel; so unselfish and sweet. She and I are running over to Paris to do some shopping for ten days. Any chance of seeing you, Dudley?”