She fidgeted again. Then she said:
"I'm afraid you'd be vexed, Miss. It isn't my place to say it."
"To say what?"
"Well, Miss," Susan explained in instalments, "it doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem natural for him to be courting ... me. It's what my Aunt Martha used to say, Miss. She used to say, 'More unhappiness comes to them as marries above 'em than to them as marries below 'em.'"
"You mean, Susan," I suggested, "that you're uneasy at the thought of such a great change in your position? So you ought to be. That's why I've always wanted you to look well before you leap. There's a great deal in what your Aunt says."
"Yes, Miss," answered Susan abstractedly. And for a few moments she tried to hold her peace. But it was no use. A sudden torrent of warm words gushed forth and swept all restraint away.
"Oh, Miss Gertrude!" she cried, "I can't help saying it! I can't! It isn't me, Miss, Lord Ruddington ought to be coming after. It's you, Miss Gertrude, it's you!"
I was struck dumb.
"Yes, it's you, Miss, it ought to be," Susan went on. "When I think of what he says in his letter, Miss--how he couldn't go making love to Miss Langley--I could die for shame. I ought to have cut off my hand before I showed you such a thing, Miss."
"Susan," I said, "you mustn't talk to me like this. You did quite right to show me his letter. It isn't your fault that Lord Ruddington wrote things in his letter which it would have been better taste to leave out."