And those near her looked and saw a little boy peasant, sitting with his legs dangling, and gazing at them with the interest and satisfaction of a person who has had the good fortune to secure the best seat at a theatre. “He is a sharp one,” said the lady, “he has got here first. There will be others directly. They are like a swarm of little vultures. The Bothwicks, who have the Villa des Palmiers, were here a week ago, and they said children seemed to start up from the earth.” The servants moved about in dexterous silence, unpacking the hampers and spreading white cloths. The gentlemen sat at the ladies’ feet, and everybody laughed and talked gayly. In a few minutes the lady looked up and laughed again. “Look,” she said, “now there are three!” And there were six legs dangling, and the second and third pair were little girls’ legs, and their owners looked on at the strangers with cheerful composure, as if their assistance at the festive scene were the most proper and natural thing in the world. The lady who had seen them first was a tall and handsome Englishwoman. She had big coils of reddish-brown hair, and large bright eyes which looked restless and tired at the same time. Everybody seemed to pay her a great deal of attention. The party was hers, the carriages were hers, the big footmen were hers. Her guests called her Lady Aileen. She was a very rich young widow with no children, and though she had everything that wealth and rank could give she found it rather hard to amuse herself. Perhaps this was because she had given everything to Lady Aileen Chalmer that she could, and it had not yet occurred to her that any one else in the world was any affair of hers. “The Bothwicks came home in raptures over a child they had seen,” she said; “they talked of him until it was fatiguing. They said he was as dirty as a pig and as beautiful as an angel. The rest of the children seemed to use him as a bait. I wish they would bring him to-day; I should like to see him. I must say I don’t believe he was as beautiful as they said. You know Mary Bothwick is by way of being artistic, and is given to raptures.” “Are you fond of children, Lady Aileen?” asked the man nearest to her. “I don’t know,” she answered, “I never had one. But I think they are amusing. And these little Italian beggars are sometimes very handsome. Perhaps I should not be so bored if I had a very good-looking child. I should want a boy. I believe I will buy one from a peasant some day. They will give you anything for money.” She turned her face a little, and laughed as she had done before. “There are quite twelve on the wall now,” she said, “perhaps more. I must count them.” When they counted them they found there were fourteen, all in a row, all with dangling feet, all dirty, and all staring at what was going on with a composure which had no shadow of embarrassment touching it.