On one of the last and hottest days in August, a grand garden-party was
given at the Manor. All the county people were invited, and they came
eagerly, though, before Thelma's social successes in London, they had
been reluctant to meet her. Now, they put on their best clothes, and
precipitated themselves into the Manor grounds like a flock of sheep
seeking land on which to graze,--all wearing their sweetest propitiatory
smirk--all gushing forth their admiration of "that _darling_ Lady
Errington"--all behaving themselves in the exceptionally funny manner
that county people affect,--people who are considered somebodies in the
small villages their big houses dominate,--but who, when brought to
reside in London, become less than the minnows in a vast ocean. These
good folks were not only anxious to _see_ Lady Errington--they wanted to
_say_ they had seen her,--and that she had spoken to _them_, so that
they might, in talking to their neighbors, mention it in quite an easy,
casual way, such as--"Oh, I was at Errington Manor the other day, and
Lady Errington said to me--.
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