The Duchess was embraced, and bore it; she herself never kissed anybody. "You always look well, my dear, in a habit, and you know it. Tell me what I shall do with this invitation." "From Lady Warton? May I look?" Chloe took a much blotted and crossed letter from the Duchess's hand. "What were her governesses about?" said the Duchess, pointing to it. "_Really_--the education of our class! Read it!" ... "Can I persuade you to come--and bring Mrs. Fairmile--next Tuesday to dinner, to meet Roger Barnes and his wife? I groan at the thought, for I think she is quite one of the most disagreeable little creatures I ever saw. But Warton says I must--a Lord-Lieutenant can't pick and choose!--and people as rich as they are have to be considered. I can't imagine why it is she makes herself so odious. All the Americans I ever knew I have liked particularly. It is, of course, annoying that they have so much money--but Warton says it isn't their fault--it's Protection, or something of the kind. But Mrs. Barnes seems really to wish to trample on us. She told Warton the other day that his tapestries--you know, those we're so proud of--that they were bad Flemish copies of something or other--a set belonging to a horrid friend of hers, I think. Warton was furious. And she's made the people at Brendon love her for ever by insisting that they have now ruined all their pictures without exception, by the way they've had them restored--et cetera, et cetera. She really makes us feel her millions--and her brains--too much. We're paupers, but we're not worms. Then there's the Archdeacon--why should she fall foul of him? He tells Warton that her principles are really shocking. She told him she saw no reason why people should stick to their husbands or wives longer than it pleased them--and that in America nobody did! He doesn't wish Mrs. Mountford to see much of her;--though, really, my dear, I don't think Mrs. M. is likely to give him trouble--do you? And I hear, of course, that she thinks us all dull and stuck-up, and as ignorant as savages. It's so odd she shouldn't even want to be liked!--a young woman in a strange neighbourhood. But she evidently doesn't, a bit. Warton declares she's already tired of Roger--and she's certainly not nice to him. What can be the matter? Anyway, dear Duchess, _do_ come, and help us through." "What, indeed, can be the matter?" repeated Chloe lightly, as she handed back the letter. "Angela Warton never knows anything. But there's not much need for _you_ to ask, my dear," said the Duchess quietly. Mrs. Fairmile turned an astonished face. "Me?" The Duchess, more bulky, shapeless and swathed than usual, subsided on a chair, and just raised her small but sharp eyes on Mrs. Fairmile.