"Well, he said—in fact, he said that these old English folk round here are such a lot of stuck-up old fools that, as a matter of fact, you'd have a bad time here as a governess. So he said that he said to a man that lives here I was bringing my niece with me. D'you see?"
Miss Grimshaw laughed. She knew at once what French meant. Over in clean Ireland no one thought anything of a pretty young governess living in the house of a widower and looking after his daughter; but here it was different. The morals of the rabbit-hutch, which are the morals of English society, had to be conformed to. She had never thought of the matter before, and lo and behold! Bobby Dashwood had thought of the matter for her.
"But I'm not your niece," said Miss Grimshaw.
"No," said French, "but, sure, you might be. And how are they to know? Lot of old fools, they think the position of a governess beneath them—not that you are a governess. Sure," finished he, apologetic and laughing, "we're all at sixes and sevens, and the easiest way out is to cut the knot and claim kinship. I don't know but one of the Frenches mayn't have married some of your people in the past."
"That would scarcely make me your niece. Anyhow, I don't care, only the servants——"
"Faith, and it's little the servants will say. They're dead-set against the English folk, and won't have a word with them. Only this morning I heard Mrs. Driscoll with a chap that had come round selling vegetables. 'Away with you,' says she, 'or I'll set the dog on you, coming round to my back door with your turnips and your rubbish!' The sight of an English face sets her off going like an alarm clock. But little I care about that, so long as she doesn't go off herself."
"Well, then, I'll go now and see what Effie's doing and how the servants are getting on. Mr. Dashwood is coming down for the week-end, is he not?"
"Yes; he'll be down on Friday."
"The great comfort about him," said she, "is that he takes us just as we are, and there's no trouble or expense with him."