“Why, even Cook heard it in the basement. And when I went into the schoolroom what do you suppose was happening?”
George had not the faintest idea.
“I found Miss Cass”—it was the voice of a Niobe mourning her young—“shaking the life—literally shaking the life out of the poor darling.”
“Well, the poor darling seems a pretty lively corpse, I must say.”
It was, of course, a remark that ought not to have been made. A military career has a tendency to make the best and the nicest of men unfeeling. There was that to be said for George Norris. Both ladies, however, were clearly wounded a little. Their quiet air of triumph was almost vanquished by such gaucherie. Men are so amazing! Some men are, at any rate. How was it possible to defend such a creature! Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson painted a full-length portrait of the wicked Miss Cass, and as a final touch invited the young man to read the letter she had just addressed on the subject to the Rector of Laxton.
The invitation was an error of judgment. And it really seemed odd that one so conspicuously a member of the sex which specializes in finesse in all its branches should have made such a mistake.
George Norris read the letter to Canon Carnaby with amazement. Nay with more than amazement. The young man found it hard to conceal his wrath.
XXXVII
Miss Cass was duly informed that her train was the two-ten. The family chariot had been ordered for half-past one, an insurance as far as was humanly possible against her missing it. Luncheon, in the meantime, was served to her in the schoolroom.
George Norris was quite upset. Clearly he was expected to share the righteous indignation of the ladies of the household, but this was asking too much of human nature. As for Miss Parbury’s air of triumph, he found it intolerable.