“You’ll never get a servant to stay in that cellar-kitchen, for one thing,” said Sophia, keeping calm.
“Oh! I don’t know about that! I don’t know about that! That Bennion woman didn’t object to it, anyway. It’s all very well for you, Sophia, to talk like that. But I know Bursley perhaps better than you do.” She was tart again. “And I can assure you that my house is looked upon as a very good house indeed.”
“Oh! I don’t say it isn’t; I don’t say it isn’t. But you would be better away from it. Every one says that.”
“Every one?” Constance looked up, dropping her work. “Who? Who’s been talking about me?”
“Well,” said Sophia, “the doctor, for instance.”
“Dr. Stirling? I like that! He’s always saying that Bursley is one of the healthiest climates in England. He’s always sticking up for Bursley.”
“Dr. Stirling thinks you ought to go away more—not stay always in that dark house.” If Sophia had sufficiently reflected she would not have used the adjective ‘dark.’ It did not help her cause.
“Oh, does he!” Constance fairly snorted. “Well, if it’s of any interest to Dr. Stirling, I like my dark house.”
“Hasn’t he ever told you you ought to go away more?” Sophia persisted.
“He may have mentioned it,” Constance reluctantly admitted.