"Good morning, Mr. Higgins--present you to Count Angelo Capello."
Handshake, admiring stare, "Glad to see ye"--courteous nod, smily "Most
happy!" and Higgins passes on.

None of these visitors was at ease, but, being honest people, they didn't
pretend to be. None of them had ever seen a person bearing a title of
nobility before, and none had been expecting to see one now, consequently
the title came upon them as a kind of pile-driving surprise and caught
them unprepared. A few tried to rise to the emergency, and got out an
awkward "My lord," or "Your lordship," or something of that sort, but the
great majority were overwhelmed by the unaccustomed word and its dim and
awful associations with gilded courts and stately ceremony and anointed
kingship, so they only fumbled through the handshake and passed on,
speechless. Now and then, as happens at all receptions everywhere, a
more than ordinary friendly soul blocked the procession and kept it
waiting while he inquired how the brothers liked the village, and how
long they were going to stay, and if their family was well, and dragged
in the weather, and hoped it would get cooler soon, and all that sort of
thing, so as to be able to say, when he got home, "I had quite a long
talk with them"; but nobody did or said anything of a regrettable kind,
and so the great affair went through to the end in a creditable and
satisfactory fashion.

General conversation followed, and the twins drifted about from group to
group, talking easily and fluently and winning approval, compelling
admiration and achieving favor from all. The widow followed their
conquering march with a proud eye, and every now and then Rowena said to
herself with deep satisfaction, "And to think they are ours--all ours!"

There were no idle moments for mother or daughter. Eager inquiries