It seemed strange, too, that her uncle and aunt could see it all without apparently noticing it. They walked quickly on, as if only wishing that there were fewer rooms to go through; Dora followed, looking round certainly, but not giving any symptoms of admiration; and Amy found that her feelings were shared by no one excepting Margaret, who, however, was more engaged in spying out what she called "odd things," and peeping into the books which lay on the table, than in anything else.
"I think I must leave you young ones here," said Lord Rochford, opening a door which led into a small hall with French windows fronting the pleasure-ground. "These are Lucy's own rooms; and she and madame will take great care of you, while Mrs Harrington pays a visit to Lady Rochford. I am afraid she is not well enough this morning to receive you all."
Amy wondered for an instant who madame could be; but she was not left long in doubt: for immediately behind Miss Cunningham, who came forward to receive them, appeared her French governess, a tall, thin, inelegant-looking person, with a good-natured, merry face, a dress made in the newest Parisian fashion, and a cap which seemed formed rather for the purpose of receiving a certain quantity of ribbon and artificial flowers, than as any covering to the black wig which it only half concealed. Amy felt very much amused, and would perhaps have smiled, had she not remembered that there was something unfeeling, independent of its being unladylike, in turning a foreigner into ridicule; but Margaret's merriment was almost audible, as madame placed chairs for them, hoped in broken English they were not fatigued with their drive, and then, with a swimming French curtsey, vanished from the room.
"That is your governess, is it?" said Dora, almost before the door was closed, in a tone which plainly spoke her opinion of her.
"Yes," replied Miss Cunningham, "she is the most good-natured creature in the world; and I am so fond of her. She speaks French beautifully."
"Not a first-rate qualification for a native," said Dora.
"Oh! but she paints flowers, too, and sings."
"Sings!" repeated Margaret; "but she is so old."
"Indeed! no, she is not. She sings and plays the guitar; and she is teaching me—papa has just bought me a new one." And Miss Cunningham took up a richly-inlaid instrument, with a long blue ribbon attached to it, and began striking some false notes which she called chords.
"I don't like the guitar," said Dora, "unless it is played beautifully."