The custom not being one which recommended itself to Lady Argent, she merely replied with a vague, kind murmur indicative of goodwill, but of nothing else.
“One does so dislike the idea of discussing les absents,” said the responsive Nina, with an atrocious accent of which she was sufficiently conscious to make her slur the words over rather rapidly, “but I have somehow felt that perhaps between us we could find out what it is that the child really needs. I don’t know that beloved Bertha Tregaskis altogether understands her, though I wouldn’t say so for the world.”
“Bertie has been very good to them both,” said Lady Argent loyally. “So wonderful of her, I always think, and all that dairy work and the Mothers’ Union and everything as well—simply marvellous.”
“Indeed, yes,” cried Nina, “quite the most practical woman I know, and my dearest friend in the world. Attraction of opposites, I suppose. I always think that she and I are the two types—Martha and Mary—active and contemplative, you know.”
Lady Argent, to whom Nina’s favourite mot was naturally new, looked more than a little doubtful.
“Dear Bertie is very wonderful altogether,” she murmured. “Her insight and sympathy, you know, and then her humility—it’s really quite touching to hear her blame or ridicule herself, when one is so full of admiration—all her gifts, you know, intellectual as well as practical.”
“Ah, those clever dialect imitations!” cried Nina, with an enthusiasm that strove subtly to confine Bertha’s mental attainments to dialect imitations. “She’s so original, isn’t she? And at one time she used to scribble a little, you know—just trifles for the magazines, but quite clever. I remember going through one or two of the proof-sheets for her—Bertie is always so ridiculously determined to think that I can write myself, you know, and wanted me to polish up some of her descriptions of travel—not, of course, that I’m really much good, though I’ve always thought I should like to write, if I could find the time.”
“Music, of course, has taken up most of your time.”
“Ah yes—my art. It’s been everything, of course.”
“It would be the greatest possible pleasure if you would play to us a little this afternoon. Ludovic loves music, and really knows a great deal about it,” said Lady Argent, believing herself to be stating a fact.