“Perfectly happy. Being with the Greens again seems Paradise she says, after London. She’s satisfied now.”
“Mts. She’s a sweet young lady; them’s fortunate as have her.”
“Well now she’s tried something else she appreciates the beautiful home. I don’t think she wants to be free.”
“Quite so. Persons differ. But she’s her own mistress; free to leave.”
“Of course it’s nicer now. The children are at school. She’s confidential companion. They all like her so much. They invented it for her.”
“Quite right. That’s as it should be.”
“And she is absolutely in Mrs. Green’s confidence now. I don’t know what poor Mrs. Green would do without her. She went back just in time for a most fearful tragedy.”
“Tss; dear—dear” murmured Mrs. Bailey waiting with frowning calm eagerness. Miriam hesitated. It would be a long difficult story to make Mrs. Bailey see stupid commercial wealth. She would see wealthy “people,” a “gentleman” living in a large country house, and not understand Mr. Green at all; but Eve, getting the bunch of keys from the ironmonger’s and writing to Bennett to find out about Rupert Street ... and the detective. She would have it in her mind like a novel and never let it go. It would be a breach of confidence.... She paused, not knowing what to do with her sudden animation. It was too late to get back into being an impartial listener, on the verge of going away. She had told everything, without the interesting details. Mrs. Bailey was waiting for them. They were still safe. She might think it was an illness or something about a relative. The only thing to do now was to stay and work off the unexplained animation on anything Mrs. Bailey might choose to say. “Well” said Mrs. Bailey presently, “to return to our friend. What I say is, why doesn’t she go to the clergy, in her own parish?”
“Go on the parish, m’m.”
“Not necessarily on the parish. The clergy’s most helpful and sympathetic. They might tell her of those who would help her.”