‘Come and have some tea,’ said Hyacinth. ‘And let me introduce you to Miss Beecher and Miss Elsie Beecher.’
Miss O’Dwyer took stock of the two girls. ‘They make their own clothes,’ she thought, ‘and apparently only see last year’s fashion-plates. The eldest isn’t bad-looking. How is it all West of Ireland girls have such glorious complexions? Her figure wouldn’t be bad if her mother bought her a decent pair of stays. I wonder who they are, and what they are doing here with Hyacinth. They can’t be his sisters.’
While they drank their tea certain glances and smiles gave her an inkling of the truth. ‘I suppose Hyacinth is engaged to the elder one,’ she concluded. ‘That kind of girl wouldn’t dare to make eyes at a man unless she had some kind of right to him.’
After tea she produced her cigarette-case.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said to Marion. ‘I know it’s very shocking, but I’ve had a tiring day and an excellent tea, and oh, this heather is delicious to lie on!’ She stretched herself at full length as she spoke. ‘I really must smoke, just to arrive at perfect felicity for once in my life. How happy you people ought to be who always have in a place like this!’
‘Oh,’ said Marion, ‘it sometimes rains, you know.’
‘Ah! and then these sweet spots get boggy, I suppose, and you have to wear thick, clumping boots.’
Her own were very neat and small, and she knew that they must obtrude themselves on the eye while she lay prone. Elsie, whose shoes were patched as well as thick-soled, made an ineffectual attempt to cover them with her skirt.
‘Now,’ said Hyacinth, ‘tell us what you are doing down here. They haven’t made you an inspectress of boarded-out workhouse children, have they? or sent you down to improve the breed of hens?’
‘No,’ said Miss O’Dwyer; ‘I have spent the afternoon helping to govern Ireland.’