Theodora thought Mrs. Wodehouse had gone suddenly crazy, but she retained her self-possession and gracefully returned Sir John's bow, which was a kind of salaam or kowtow. "I have the honor," he said, "of living next to Miss March." Theodora smiled her own dazzling smile at this. "Yes," she replied, "and I want you to credit me with great virtue in shutting tight all the double windows when I am taking my singing lessons so that I shall not make myself odious to my neighbors." "Do you call that kind?" said Sir John. "Shall we take a turn and talk about it?" Mrs. Wodehouse actually put out her hand to detain Theodora, but Theo was already beyond her grasp. She stole a side glance at her companion as they moved off, that gave her a much better idea of him than she had before. He was very tall and certainly distinguished looking, but there was something, an intense blackness around the eye, and a bluish tinge about the full black beard that gave him a sinister look. As they passed through the throng of splendid women and thorough-bred looking men, a very old man, much braced and padded, who stood up stiffly as if he feared he could not get up again if he sat down, and whose breast was covered by a broad blue ribbon, touched Sir John on the arm and mumbled something in his ear. Sir John, smiling, said to Theodora: "That is the Marquis of Longacre. He wants to be presented to you. He is nearly ninety, but his eye for beauty is as keen as it was fifty years ago." Theodora colored brilliantly. A marquis asking to be presented to Josiah C. March's daughter was a big thing, as the defunct March would have expressed it--and although Sir John had not said a word about his relationship to the old gentleman, yet Theodora knew all about it, having studied the subject thoroughly in Debrett. So, after taking a turn about the ball-room, they returned. Sir John presented the marquis, and then courteously stepped aside that the old gentleman might have her all to himself. This was the marquis's first observation: "Good Gad! are all the girls in America as pretty as you are?" "Most of them are a great deal prettier," laughed Theodora, with the ready adaptability of her compatriots. "It must be a doosid jolly place, then," chuckled the marquis. "Why don't you come over and take a look at us?" archly remarked the sprightly Theo, purposely oblivious of the marquis's eighty-five years. "Because I'm eighty-five. Eighty-five's a bore, my dear young lady. You don't believe me, eh? Women never believe a man unless he lies to 'em," remarked the marquis with a wheeze which was meant for a sigh. "I often tell my nephew John--the one you're walking with--he won't have to wait long to be Marquis of Longacre. It's a pity that none of his wives could live to enjoy it." "His wives!" cried Theodora, surprised into an exclamation. The marquis seemed disposed to confidence.