The Duchess pondered again.
“You are thinking that what Miss Robin said to Mademoiselle Vallé might be true—in mine. And perhaps you are not altogether wrong even if you are not altogether right.”
“Until I went to take care of Miss Robin I had only had places in families Mrs. Gareth-Lawless’ set didn’t touch anywhere. What I’m remembering is that there was a—strictness—shown sometimes even when it seemed a bit harsh. Among the servants the older ones said that is was because of the new sets and their fast wicked ways. One of my young ladies once met another young lady about her own age—she was just fifteen—at a charity bazaar and they made friends and liked each other very much. The young lady’s mother was one there was a lot of talk about in connection with a person of very high station—the highest, your grace—and everyone knew. The girl was a lovely little creature and beautifully behaved. It was said her mother wanted to push her into the world she couldn’t get into herself. The acquaintance was stopped, your grace—it was put a stop to at once. And my poor little young lady quite broke her heart over it, and I heard it was much worse for the other.”
“I will think this over,” the Duchess said. “It needs thinking over. I wished to talk to you because I have seen that she has fixed little ideas regarding what she thinks is suited to her position as a paid companion and she might not be prepared. I wish you to see that she has a pretty little frock or so which she could wear if she required them.”
“She has two, your grace,” Dowie smiled affectionately as she said it. “One for evening and one for special afternoon wear in case your grace needed her to attend you for some reason. They are as plain as she dare make them, but when she puts one on she can’t help giving it a look.”
“Yes—she would give it all it needed,” her grace said. “Thank you, Dowie. You may go.”
With her sketch of a respectful curtsey Dowie went towards the door. As she approached it her step became slower; before she reached it she had stopped and there was a remarkable look on her face—a suddenly heroic look. She turned and made several steps backward and paused again which unexpected action caused the Duchess to turn to glance at her. When she glanced her grace recognized the heroic look and waited, with a consciousness of some slight new emotion within herself, for its explanation.
“Your grace,” Dowie began, asking God himself to give courage if she was doing right and to check her if she was making a mistake, “When your grace was thinking of the parents of other young ladies and gentlemen—did it come to you to put it to yourself whether you’d be willing—” she caught her breath, but ended quite clearly, respectfully, reasonably. “Lady Kathryn—Lord Halwyn—” Lady Kathryn was the Duchess’ young granddaughter, Lord Halwyn was her extremely good-looking grandson who was in the army.
The Duchess understood what the heroic look had meant, and her respect for it was great. Its intention had not been to suggest inclusion of George and Kathryn in her plan, it had only with pure justice put it to her to ask herself what her own personal decision in such a matter would be.
“You do feel as if you were her mother,” she said. “And you are a practical, clear-minded woman. It is only if I myself am willing to take such a step that I have a right to ask it of other people. Lady Lothwell is the mother I must speak to first. Her children are mine though I am a mere grandmother.”