"My son tells me you are going to Branches," the Duchess presently resumed.
"Lord Lambeth has been so good as to ask us," said Mrs. Westgate, who perceived that her visitor had now begun to look at her, and who had her customary happy consciousness of a distinguished appearance. The only mitigation of her felicity on this point was that, having inspected her visitor's own costume, she said to herself, "She won't know how well I am dressed!"
"He has asked me to go, but I am not sure I shall be able," murmured the Duchess.
"He had offered us the p— the prospect of meeting you," said Mrs. Westgate.
"I hate the country at this season," responded the Duchess.
Mrs. Westgate gave a little shrug. "I think it is pleasanter than London."
But the Duchess's eyes were absent again; she was looking very fixedly at Bessie. In a moment she slowly rose, walked to a chair that stood empty at the young girl's right hand, and silently seated herself. As she was a majestic, voluminous woman, this little transaction had, inevitably, an air of somewhat impressive intention. It diffused a certain awkwardness, which Lady Pimlico, as a sympathetic daughter, perhaps desired to rectify in turning to Mrs. Westgate.
