On this last subtle commentary of Miss Grierson-Amberly’s upon mankind, the silence that ensued was of so abysmal a character that it remained unbroken for nearly ten minutes. Rose, although her vocabulary hardly comprised the word platitude, was ruthlessly recognizing and condemning the quality of her companion’s conversation as “utter bunkum,” and Diana Grierson-Amberly, not without good cause, was discouraged.
Presently she tried again.
“Cousin Catherine is so fond of children, I expect she loves having Cecil here. I always think it’s such an ideal place for a child, too.”
“Do you? Why?” said Rose, interested for the first time.
Unfortunately, Miss Grierson-Amberly’s observation had been rhetorically, rather than literally, intended.
“Well, the garden, you know, and—and the house—and then Ford can teach him to shoot, later on, and he can have a jolly time in the holidays. Miss Wade is nice, too, isn’t she? I think it must be much more fun to have a young governess.”
“She’s all right, but rather an ass, don’t you think?”
“I thought she seemed a nice little thing. You know, Mrs. Aviolet, I do really think there’s heaps of good in everyone if you only look for it,” said the girl, quite earnestly.
“Well, I don’t. I don’t see one single atom of good in that precious Ford of yours, for instance,” Rose declared with sudden recklessness.
Diana’s face grew very grave and very pink. She turned and looked at Rose, with the corners of her mouth rather turned down, and when she spoke her voice was full of distress.