“Smith,” suggested Mrs Blunt.
“Yes—er—for her to be exchanged into another room.”
Mrs Blunt thought that perhaps if her young friend did not object to being separated she might possibly manage it. And really I hoped she would; for any one, even Celia Blang—little spy that she was—would have been better than poor Patty.
“But I really should not like to introduce my dear child here at the expense of doing violence to anybody’s feelings,” said Mrs Campanelle Brassey.
“Oh, no! I know you would not wish that,” said Mrs Blunt; “and really, if Miss Smith objected at all to being removed, I don’t think I could—er—I should like to—to—”
“I see, perfectly,” said Mrs Campanelle Brassey; “and I quite admire and appreciate your system, Mrs de Blount. But what does my young friend here say—would she object to such a change being made? Would she not miss her friend, the young person of the name of—er—Jones?”
“Smith,” corrected Mrs Blunt; for somehow the vulgarity of the name seemed too much for Mrs Campanelle Brassey.
“I should be very glad to see the change,” I said.
“And about Miss Fitzacre?” said Mrs Blunt, with such an air of hypocritical interest, looking all the while so innocent.
“Oh, I’m certain that she would be glad,” I rejoined. “In fact, ma’am, I have heard her say so. Miss Smith is very young, ma’am,” I said, modestly, “and has never been a companion or friend to us.”