She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were quite wide open now and he was once more astonished to find how beautiful they were. Nevertheless their expression at that moment was not pleasing. She seemed surprised at his question—if such a thing were possible, a little frightened.
“I know him, of course,” she replied. “He too visits Madame occasionally.”
“I am interested in the family,” Mr. Johnson confessed, “and I have faith in your instincts. What do you think of Gregory Ballaston?”
“What should I think of him?” she answered indifferently. “A good-looking young man, run after at times by all the young women in the county, a great sportsman, a great traveller, and, I suppose, a great libertine. How on earth should I, Madame’s companion, know or think anything about him?”
“One forms impressions,” he murmured.
“If I allowed myself to form any,” she rejoined, “they would be favourable. He treats me always just a little more politely, because I am a dependent. If I were a silly girl, I dare say I should be like the rest of them in this horrible neighbourhood.”
“Why do you call it that?” he protested.
“I call it that,” she rejoined, “because I detest nearly all the people I know in it.”
“Well, there don’t seem to be many,” he remarked good-humouredly, “even if you include me.”
“I certainly do not include you,” she assured him. “You may disappoint me like the others, but at the present moment you seem to me a very simple, good-natured person, who actually takes the trouble to go out of his way to do a kindness.”