“An exquisite creature, indeed!” said the one to whom the remark was addressed. “She walks like a goddess; and what hair!” The two of the right set smiled each in the other’s face, with the corners of their lips turned down. They could hardly resist giving the strangers the information that she was not an exquisite creature, but only a farmer’s daughter. But before they had straightened their lips once more the ladies in front of them, who had followed Priscilla with their eyes, were becoming excited. “Dear me!” cried one. “Cynthia is speaking to her. I hope she will bring her here.” “How nice of Cynthia!” said the other. The Framsby people, by putting their heads slightly forward, saw that a big girl in tennis costume and with a racket in her hand had sprung up from a seat where she had been resting between games, and flung herself upon Priscilla, kissing her impetuously and then roaring with laughter. Priscilla had received her onslaught only a trifle more sedately, and they stood together on the turf beside one of the courts, chatting like old friends who have not met for years. And now the Framsby people saw that the young girl was pointing with her racket to the pavilion, and then leading Priscilla back by the way she had come. She led her, still chatting briskly, until they were both beside the two strangers in the front row. “Mother,” said the girl, “your chance has come at last;--this is Priscilla the Puritan maiden.” The lady got upon her feet. “Not Miss Wadhurst?” she said. “But of course you are Miss Wadhurst. I should have known you from Cynthia’s photograph, only you are older now--more--what shall I say?--no, not more--less, yes, you are less of a girl.” “That is charmingly put, Lady Gainsforth,” said Priscilla. The Framsby ones gasped. So that was the Countess of Gainsforth, and that girl was her daughter, Lady Cynthia Brooks, the great tennis player, who was waiting for the mixed doubles. They gasped together; and then each tried to outdo the other in an attempt to catch Priscilla’s eye. One of them succeeded, but somehow Priscilla missed seeing her even with the eye that she caught, and the next moment Priscilla was being presented to the second lady, whose name was Mrs. Marlowe. And then the four began to chat of matters far beyond the horizon of Framsby folk--of the old school where it seemed the girls had been together--of Lady Gainsforth’s kindness in asking Priscilla to stay at Gainsforth Towers during the Cowes week, which Priscilla so greatly appreciated, only regretting that she had promised to go with the Von Hochmans to their villa at Honnef-on-Rhine; and after all the Count had been ill, so that they had nothing of him or his opera. Oh, yes, the opera was produced at Frankfort and afterwards at Nice. “Why, did they not sing your old English song in it?” asked Lady Gainsforth.