Chapter 4 - Page 2

be
"upset," at least. She descended from her landau, with her most rigorous
air. Her stout, rich black _moire-antique_ gown rustled severely; the
yellow ostrich feather in her bonnet waved majestically. (Being a
brunette, and Lady Theobald, she wore yellow.) As she tramped up the
gravel walk, she held up her dress with both hands, as an example to
vulgar and reckless young people who wore trains and left them to
take care of themselves. Octavia was arranging afresh the bunch of
long-stemmed, swaying buds at her waist, and she was giving all her
attention to her task when her visitor first addressed her.

"How do you do?" remarked her ladyship, in a fine, deep voice.

Miss Belinda followed her meekly.

"Octavia," she explained, "this is Lady Theobald, whom you will be very
glad to know. She knew your father."

"Yes," returned my lady, "years ago. He has had time to improve since
then. How do you do?"

Octavia's limpid eyes rested serenely upon her.

"How do you do?" she said, rather indifferently.

"You are from Nevada?" asked Lady Theobald.

"Yes."

"It is not long since you left there?"

Octavia smiled faintly.

"Do I look like that?" she inquired.

"Like what?" said my lady.

"As if I had not long lived in a civilized place. I dare say I do,
because it is true that I haven't."

"You don't look like an English girl," remarked her ladyship.

Octavia smiled again. She looked at the yellow feather and stout _moire
antique_ dress, but quite as if by accident, and without any mental
deduction; then she glanced at the rosebuds in her hand.

"I suppose I ought to be sorry for that," she observed. "I dare say I
shall be in time--when I have been longer away from Nevada."

"I must confess," admitted her ladyship, and evidently without the
least regret or embarrassment, "I must confess that I don't know where
Nevada is."

"It isn't in Europe," replied Octavia, with a soft, light laugh. "You
know that, don't you?"

The words themselves sounded to Lady Theobald like the most outrageous
impudence; but when she looked at the pretty, lovelock-shaded face, she
was staggered the look it wore was such a very innocent and undisturbed
one. At the moment, the only solution to be reached seemed to be that
this was the style of young people in Nevada, and that it was ignorance
and not insolence she had to do battle with--which, indeed, was
partially true.

"I have not had any occasion to inquire where it is situated, so