“Ah!” said Mr. Grimes, replacing his thumb. “Sees t’point t’Chacery.”
Lady Charlotte disregarded this comment. She wished to describe Aunts Phyllis and Phœbe in her own words.
“They are quite extraordinary young women—not by any stretch of language to be called Ladies. They dress in that way—like the pictures in the Grosvenor Gallery.”
“Æsthetic?”
“I could find a harsher word for it. They smoke. Not a nice thing for children to see. I suspect them strongly of vegetarianism. From something one of them said. In which case the children will not be properly nourished. And they speak quite openly of socialism in front of their charges. Neither of the poor little creatures had been bought a scrap of mourning. Not a scrap. I doubt if they have even been made to understand that their parents are dead. But that is only the beginning. I am totally unable to ascertain whether either of the poor mites has been christened. Apparently they have not....”
Mr. Grimes withdrew his thumb for a moment. “You are perfectly within yer rights—insisting—knowing”—thumb replaced—“all thlese things.”
“Exactly. And in having my say in their general upbringing.”
“How far do they prevent that?”
“Oh; they get in my way. They send the children out whenever they feel I am coming. They do not listen to me and accept any suggestions I make. Oh!—sniff at it.”
“And you want to make ’em?”