Still, there was no gainsaying the fact that George Norris, who four years and three months ago had been a clerk earning a modest three pounds a week in the office of a Clavering auctioneer, had several times been invited to luncheon and dinner by the Lancelots, and Miss Ethel herself, the bright one of the family, had only last week attempted the fox-trot with him in public. It is true that it was at the Assembly Rooms in the cause of mercy, but either Miss Ethel was growing extremely progressive for a virgin of thirty or the stock of George Norris was rising to a perilous height in the local market.
Towards the end of the meal the Lancelots were rather freely discussed and it was then that the new governess by a series of incautious remarks lent piquancy to the conversation. In fact she betrayed a knowledge so intimate of this distinguished clan that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was impelled to challenge it. By what means had Miss Cass acquired so much information concerning them?
The new governess inadvertently replied that the Lancelots were old friends of her mother’s.
“Your mother’s, Miss Cass?” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson sharply; “but I am speaking of the Lancelots of Amory Towers.”
In cool tones Elfreda made it quite clear that she also was speaking of the Lancelots of Amory Towers.
“But how does your mother come to know them?” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson offered open battle to Miss Cass.
The new governess smiled frankly and cheerfully as she caught the eye of the young man opposite. “Well you see——” The unconscious insolence of the slight drawl amounted to downright bad form in any governess, new or otherwise. “Well, you see my father happened to be the butler at Amory Towers and my mother was lady’s maid.”
A solemn pause ensued. Finally it was broken by a gurgle of suppressed laughter from General Norris. The tension which gripped the dinner table was thereby released, but even in the myopic sight of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson the lie of the new governess was so palpable that she decided at once that Miss Cass would have to take another situation at the end of her month.
For the rest of the evening the other ladies were openly hostile to Miss Cass. In the drawing room this attitude grew quite marked, when during Miss Parbury’s brilliant performance—brilliancy was her note in everything, the key, in fact, of her personality—of Opp’s Prelude in A minor upon the piano-forte the new governess persistently indulged in loud and animated chatter with General Norris. Broad hints were given that such conduct was unseemly, but they did not make one pennyworth of difference. It was almost as if Miss Cass took a malicious pleasure in flouting Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson and in restricting the opportunities of Miss Parbury who found herself quite at a loss. General Norris was much to blame, no doubt, but he was to be excused on the ground of social inexperience. For the new governess there was no excuse. Such behavior could not be passed over. As the clock on the chimney piece chimed ten Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was moved to put her just resentment into words.
“Miss Cass”—perhaps the resentment was more apparent in the tone than in the words themselves—“you must really go to bed, I think. The children’s breakfast is at half-past eight, you know. They were ten minutes late this morning.”