“Well, Susan, then--though I hate to pronounce such a common word in addressing anyone above the rank of servant. It’s all very well for you to talk in that fashion. You’ve established yourself. You can afford to affect simplicity, and to insist on being called Susan, and on dropping your title, and on living in a plain little house, and on bringing up your children as if they were tradesmen’s sons instead of the sons of one of the proudest nobles in----” “You know Almansa,” interrupted “Susan.” “How _can_ you speak of him as proud or a noble?” “He _is_ a weazened, oily creature,” admitted Ysobel, delighted to make her sister wince by agreeing with her and “going her one better.” “And I jumped for joy when you shook him, because I shouldn’t have to let him kiss me any more. But, all the same, he’s a great noble. And you know perfectly well, Madame Almansa, that if you had it to do all over again you’d marry him--yes, if he were ten times worse----” “Don’t, Bella--please!” exclaimed “Susan” in a large, tragic way. “Mon Dieu!” She clasped her hands and in heroic agitation swept magnificently up and down the small, clear space. “When I think of the heritage of my boys--my Emilio and my Alfonso----” “My Prince Rio Blanco and my Marquis Calamar,” mocked Ysobel. “Cut it out, Sue. I loathe--_cant_!” “Instead of filling your head with these false notions of nobility,” said “Sue,” sarcastically, “you would better look to your English, at least. But the vulgar speech you and your girl friends use nowadays is in keeping with your vulgar ideas of aristocracy.” “Yes, Madame la Duchesse,” said Ysobel, her good nature unruffled. “And when I’ve married a title and then shaken the man I’ll talk in the same top-lofty way that you do.” Madame Almansa raised and lowered her superb shoulders and changed the subject to dress--she affected an extreme of simplicity, and that required a great deal more time and thought than her former easily gratified craze for the startling. Presently her father came with Frothingham. “You’re going to Senator Pope’s to dinner, aren’t you?” he said absently. Frothingham thought he looked like the pictures of “Brother Jonathan,” except that his white chin whiskers were rooted in a somewhat larger chin space. “Not I,” replied Madame Almansa. “You know, father, I’m to stay here and do the honours at your dinner.” “Yes, yes, Susie--I remember.” Senator Ballantyne seemed pleased, but uneasy. “But you must be careful--very careful. Your grand airs will frighten ’em.” Ysobel laughed. “Mamma and I are going to Mrs. Pope,” she said, “and Lord Frothingham, too. And then we all go to the White House dance afterward.” “No, the White House dance is to-morrow night,” said Madame Almansa. “I am going.”