'That was ill-advised.' Lady John glanced at her niece.
'So all my relations said'—Miss Levering, too, looked at Jean—'and I couldn't explain.'
'Not to your mother?' the girl asked.
'My mother was dead. I went to London to a small hotel, and tried to find employment. I wandered about all day and every day from agency to agency. I was supposed to be educated. I'd been brought up partly in Paris, I could play several instruments and sing little songs in four different tongues.'
In the pause Jean asked, 'Did nobody want you to teach French or sing the little songs?'
'The heads of schools thought me too young. There were people ready to listen to my singing. But the terms, they were too hard. Soon my money was gone. I began to pawn my trinkets. They went.'
'And still no work?'
'No; but by that time I had some real education—an unpaid hotel bill, and not a shilling in the world. Some girls think it hardship to have to earn their living. The horror is not to be allowed to.'
Jean bent forward. 'What happened?'
Lady John stood up. 'My dear,' she asked her visitor, 'have your things been sent down?'