Mrs. Belding crossed over to where Farnham was seated and began a conversation with him in an undertone.

“You think her really improved?”

“In every way.  She has the beauty and stature of a Brunhild; she carries herself like a duchess, I was going to say—­but the only duchess I ever knew was at Schwalbach, and she was carried in a wicker hand-cart.  But mademoiselle is lovely, and she speaks very pretty English; and knows how to wear her hair, and will be a great comfort to you, if you can keep the boys at bay for awhile.”

“No danger there, I imagine; she will keep them at bay herself.  Did you notice just now?  Mr. Furrey called especially to see her.  He was quite attentive to her last summer.  Instead of going to the drawing-room to see him, she wants him to come in here, where he is in our way and we are in his.  That is one of Madame de Veaudrey’s notions.”

“I should fancy it was,” said Farnham, dryly; “I have heard her spoken of as a lady of excellent principles and manners.”

“Now you are going to side against me, are you?  I do not believe in importing these European ideas of surveillance into free America.  I have confidence in American girls.”

“But see where your theories lead you.  In Algonquin Avenue, the young ladies are to occupy the drawing-room, while the parents make themselves comfortable in the library.  But the houses in Dean Street are not so spacious.  Most citizens in that quarter have only two rooms below stairs.  I understand the etiquette prevailing there is for parents, when their daughters receive calls, to spend the evening in the kitchen.”

“Oh, dear!  I see I’m to get no help from you.  That’s just the way Alice talks.  When she came home to-day, there were several invitations for her, and some notes from young gentlemen offering their escort.  She told me in that quiet way of hers, that reminds me of Mr. Belding when he was dangerous, that she would be happy to go with me when I cared to go, and happy to stay at home if I stayed.  So I imagine I am booked for a gay season.”

“Which I am sure you will greatly enjoy.  But this Madame de Veaudrey must be a sensible woman.”

“Because I disagree with her?  I am greatly obliged.  But she is a saint, although you admire her,” pursued the good-tempered woman.  “She was a Hamilton, you know, and married Veaudrey, who was secretary of legation in Washington.  He was afterward minister in Sweden, and died there.  She was returning to this country with her three girls, and was shipwrecked and they all three perished.  She was picked up unconscious and recovered only after a long illness.  Since then she has gone very little into the world, but has devoted herself to the education of young ladies.  She never has more than three or four at a time, and these she selects herself.  Alice had heard of her from Mrs. Bowman, and we ventured to write to ask admission to her household,