“Indeed, yes!” agreed Miss Wraxton, honey sweet. “Though sometimes, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, when one has a multitude of friends, one is inclined not to be as careful as one should be, perhaps. I wonder if I might venture to put you a little on your guard? In Paris and Vienna I am sure you would be able to tell me how I should go on, but in London I must be more at home than you.”
“Oh, I should never be so impertinent as to tell you how to go on anywhere!” Sophy declared.
“Well, perhaps it would not be necessary,” acknowledged Miss Wraxton graciously. “My mama has always been a most careful parent, and very strict in her choice of governesses for her daughters. I have felt so much compassion for you, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, situated as you are. You must so often have felt the want of a mother!”
“Not at all. Don’t waste your compassion on me, I beg! I never wanted a mother while I had Sir Horace.”
“Gentlemen,” said Miss Wraxton, “are not the same.”
“An unarguable statement. How do you like my bays?”
Miss Wraxton laid a hand on her knee. “Allow me to speak without reserve!” she begged.
“Short of overturning you I can hardly prevent you,” Sophy replied. “But you had much better not, you know! I am very unbiddable, and if I were to lose my temper I might do what I should afterward be sorry for.”
“But I must speak!” Miss Wraxton said earnestly. “I owe it to your cousin!”
“Indeed! How is this?”