“If she consorted with other young things and talked nonsense with them and shared their pleasures she would forget it,” she said.
“Ah!” exclaimed Dowie. “That’s it.”
The question in the Duchess’ eyes when she lifted them required an answer and she gave it respectfully.
“The thing that happened was only the last touch put to what she’d gradually been finding out as she grew from child to young girl. The ones she would like to know—she said it in plain words once to Mademoiselle—might not want to know her. I must take the liberty of speaking plain, your grace, or it’s no use me speaking at all. She holds it deep in her mind that she’s a sort of young outcast.”
“I must convince her that she is not—.” It was the beginning of what the Duchess had meant to say, but she actually found herself pausing, held for the moment by Dowie’s quiet, civil eye.
“Was your grace in your kindness thinking—?” was what the excellent woman said.
“Yes. That I would invite young people to meet her—help them to know each other and to make friends.” And even as she said it she was conscious of being slightly under the influence of Dowie’s wise gaze.
“Your grace only knows those young people she would like to know.” It was a mere simple statement.
“People are not as censorious as they once were.” Her grace’s tone was intended to reply to the suggestion lying in the words which had worn the air of statement without comment.
“Some are not, but some are,” Dowie answered. “There’s two worlds in London now, your grace. One is your grace’s and one is Mrs. Gareth-Lawless’. I have heard say there are others between, but I only know those two.”