“Mary Ann Simpkins, my lady.”
“Simpkins, Simpkins? Surely I know the name?”
“Yes, my lady, and I daresay you’ve seen her at Tilborough. Very pretty girl—daughter of Sam Simpkins.”
“What, at the hotel?”
“Yes, my lady,” said the agent, with sad deference. “He is the trainer and keeper of racing stables—Tilborough Arms.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Ah! what a home for the poor girl! No wonder. But you said something about turning the girls’ heads.”
“Yes, my lady. She went into training in town.”
“Ran away from home, of course?”
“Oh, no, my lady. Simpkins had her educated in London for that sort of thing—singing and dancing.”
“Shocking! Shocking!”