“Mrs. Nettlepoint—the lady under whose protection she happens to be.”
“Protection?” Mrs. Peck stared at me a moment, moving some valued morsel in her mouth; then she exclaimed familiarly “Pshaw!” I was struck with this and was on the point of asking her what she meant by it when she continued: “Ain’t we going to see Mrs. Nettlepoint?”
“I’m afraid not. She vows she won’t stir from her sofa.”
“Pshaw!” said Mrs. Peck again. “That’s quite a disappointment.”
“Do you know her then?”
“No, but I know all about her.” Then my companion added: “You don’t mean to say she’s any real relation?”
“Do you mean to me?”
“No, to Grace Mavis.”
“None at all. They’re very new friends, as I happen to know. Then you’re acquainted with our young lady?” I hadn’t noticed the passage of any recognition between them at luncheon.
“Is she your young lady too?” asked Mrs. Peck with high significance.