“The less you expect the better,” said her massive monitress. “Well, we expect nothing unreasonable.” The Duchess had a fine contemplative pause—evidently with more to say. She made, in the quantity, her next selection. “Lambeth says he has seen so much of you.” “He has been with us very often—he has been a ministering angel,” Bessie hastened to put on record. “I daresay you’re used to that. I’m told there’s a great deal of that in America.” “A great deal of angelic ministering?” the girl laughed again. “Is that what you call it? I know you’ve different expressions.” “We certainly don’t always understand each other,” said Mrs. Westgate, the termination of whose interview with Lady Pimlico had allowed her to revert to their elder visitor. “I’m speaking of the young men calling so much on the young ladies,” the Duchess explained. “But surely in England,” Mrs. Westgate appealed, “the young ladies don’t call on the young men?” “Some of them do—almost!” Lady Pimlico declared. “When a young man’s a great _parti_.” “Bessie, you must make a note of that,” said Mrs. Westgate. “My sister”—she gave their friends the benefit of the knowledge—“is a model traveller. She writes down all the curious facts she hears in a little book she keeps for the purpose.” The Duchess took it, with a noble art of her own, as if she hadn’t heard it; and while she was so occupied—for this involved a large deliberation—her daughter turned to Bessie. “My brother has told us of your being so clever.” “He should have said my sister,” Bessie returned—“when she treats you to such flights as that.” “Shall you be long at Branches?” the Duchess abruptly asked of her. Bessie was to have afterwards a vivid remembrance of wondering what her Grace (she was so glad Duchesses had that predicate) would mean by “long.” But she might as well somehow have wondered what the occupants of the planet Mars would. “He has invited us for three days.” “I think I must really manage it,” the Duchess declared—“and my daughter too.” “That will be charming!” “Delightful!” cried Mrs. Westgate. “I shall expect to see a deal of you,” the Duchess continued. “When I go to Branches I monopolise my son’s guests.” “They must give themselves up to you,” said Mrs. Westgate all graciously. “I quite yearn to see it—to see the Castle,” Bessie went on to the larger lady. “I’ve never seen one—in England at least; and you know we’ve none in America.” “Ah, you’re fond of castles?”—her Grace quite took it up. “Of the idea of them—which is all I know—immensely.” And the girl’s pale light deepened for the assurance. “It has been the dream of my life to live in one.” The Duchess looked at her as if hardly knowing how to take such words, which, from the ducal point of view, had either to be very artless or very aggressive. “Well,” she said, rising, “I’ll show you Branches myself.” And upon this the noble ladies took their departure.