Or else, there was nothing in
it."
"Well, there was nothing in it, dear--in this case. And I wouldn't advise
you to give me to Lord Tatham--just yet!"
Mrs. Penfold sighed.
"Of course one knows that that kind of young man has his marriage made
for him--just like royalty. But sometimes--they break out. There _are_
dukes that have married plain Misses--no better than you, Lydia--and
not American either. But--Lydia--you _did_ like him?"
"Who? Lord Tatham? Certainly."
"I expect most girls do! He's the great _parti_ about here."
"Mother, _really_!" cried Lydia. "He's just a pleasant youth--not at all
clever. And oh, how badly he plays bridge!"
"That doesn't matter. Mrs. Deacon says you got on with him, splendidly."
"I chaffed him a good deal. He really plays worse than I do--if you can
believe it."
"They like being chaffed"--said Mrs. Penfold pensively--"if a girl does
it well."
"I don't care, darling, whether they like it or not. It amuses me, and so
I do it."
"But you mustn't let them think they're being laughed at. If you do that,
Lydia, you'll be an old maid. Oh, Lydia!"--the speaker sighed like a
furnace--"I _do_ wish you saw more young men!"
"Well, I saw another one--much handsomer than Lord Tatham--this
afternoon," laughed Lydia.
Mrs. Penfold eagerly inquired. The story was told, and Mrs. Penfold, as
easily lured by a new subject as a child by a new doll, fell into many
speculations as to who the youth could have been, and where he was going.
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