“Shoe-leather!” again ejaculated Harriet Brandt, not knowing what to say.
“Why, yes! of course all the aristocracy go in for trade now-a-days! It’s the fashion! There’s the Viscountess Gormsby keeps a bonnet-shop, and Lord Charles Snowe ’as a bakery, and Lady Harrison ’as an old curiosity-shop, and stands about it, dusting tables and chairs, all day! But how can you know anything about it, just coming from the West Indies, and all those ’orrid blacks! Ain’t you glad to find yourself amongst Christians again?”
“This is the first time I ever left Jamaica,” said Miss Brandt, “I was born there.”
“But you won’t die there, or I’m much mistaken! You’re too good to be wasted on Jamaica! When are you going back to England?”
“Oh! I don’t know! I’ve hardly thought about it yet! Not while Mrs. Pullen stays here, though!”
“Why! you’re not tied to ’er apron-string, surely! What’s she to you?”
“She is very kind, and I have no friends!” replied Miss Brandt.
The Baroness burst into a coarse laugh.
“You won’t want for friends, once you shew your face in England, I can tell you. I’d like to ’ave you at our ’ouse, the Red ’Ouse, we call it. Princess—but there, I mustn’t tell you ’er name or it’ll go through the Hotel, and she says things to me that she never means to go further—but she said the other day that she preferred the Red ’Ouse to Windsor! And for comfort, and cheerfulness, so she may!”
“I suppose it is very beautiful then!” observed Harriet.