“Ah!” She paused for an instant. The habit of years enjoined silence, but she was upset and sensible, also, that she had upset her typist. And for this she was sincerely sorry. It might be worth while to speak confidentially to Agatha, who exercised some influence in the village. Her voice became gentle again, as she leaned back in her chair.
“Do you happen to share John Exton’s political views?”
Agatha, taken aback, temporised:
“His political views, my lady?”
“You know what I mean, Agatha. John Exton, to put it mildly, is a Socialist. Not ten minutes ago, in this very room, he aired his views upon property for my benefit. It is true that I asked him to do so. Of course he is at liberty to hold such views. And I am glad that I know where he stands. Now I wish to know where you stand.”
Agatha answered respectfully enough:
“I do share some of his views.”
Lady Selina made a gesture. Agatha’s reserves might exasperate her, but she respected them. After all, if the girl did her work properly, what did her views matter? She sat up briskly.
“Where was I?”
Agatha glanced at her notebook.