The readiness of her answer was apparent. She was the kind of woman to whom slander was a dainty morsel to be tongue-rolled. Her own tongue became as the pen of a ready writer. It sickened the questioner, but he continued:
"And the governess?"
Vigorous shaking of the woman's head again. In the same redolent-of-sourness style, too, as she answered:
"There is no governess there, sir. The only servints is the cook and 'ousemaid and the odd boy."
He knew that to be a lie! Hope, that he had thought entombed, rose again. One thing incorrect, why not all? He said sharply:
"You are mistaken!"
"I don't think so, sir."
Again that hideous smile. Accompanied this time by a pitying expression; pity for his simplicity! He was like the generality of men—writhed under pity. It acted on him with the irritation of a rasp. He, however, controlled himself sufficiently to enquire:
"A tall, fair, blue-eyed young lady?"