If her personality and appearance had been less fascinating, probably the gossip about her mysterious appearance in Durban without friends or connections, or a known home, would have died a natural death. But with her first coming to Clem's house, her loveliness seemed to have grown. In the heat of a room there was a dewiness about her that began in her eyes, and was wonderfully refreshing to the jaded spirit. In the chill of the late evening she seemed to glow with a warmth that was cheering to the coldest heart. Unfortunately, she sometimes forgot to be conventional and ordinary in little social matters. Clem never took notice of such trivialities, but Mrs. Capron and the other women would raise delicate eyebrows and even the men exchange inscrutable glances.
One day Mrs. Capron said:
"Clem, didn't you tell me that Miss Chard was a Cheltenham College girl?" in an incredulous voice. (It is not always convenient to be faced with your statements made at a pinch.)
"Mary," was the answer, after a little pause, "that girl has got a wound that bleeds inwardly, and has spent her life trying to hide it from the world. She has had no time to notice the little conventionalities and banalities that count with us."
"One wonders sometimes if she ever had the opportunity—that is all. She walked into the dining-room ahead of Lady Mostyn and everybody else last night——"
Clem winced; then, remembering Lady Mostyn's outraged face, laughed.
"Well, one hardly picks up those things at school, chérie—and she may have been on a desert island ever since."
"That would be an interesting reason for her bad manners, darling, but——"
"I won't admit that they are bad—only unusual; and, besides, she has the excuse of genius. If I might only tell you what I know of her work——"
"Miniatures?" asked Mrs. Capron wickedly.