It happened, however, that the ever-watchful mistress of the house was lurking near at hand. She had observed the visitor’s arrival from the window of the morning room and filled with curiosity she now intercepted the parlor-maid before she could deliver the message to Miss Cass.
“Who is it, Jarvis?”
“A lady, ma’am, to see Miss Cass. She won’t give her name, ma’am.”
“How odd.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson ruminated for a brief twenty seconds. Then she added, “I will tell Miss Cass myself.”
Further rumination followed. In the class of born-busybodies, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had claims to rank high. Curiosity stirred her in regard to this quite attractive-looking and decidedly well-turned-out young woman—Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson prided herself upon being a judge of such matters—who declined to give her name. And the new governess was enough of “a dark horse” already without having secretive callers to intensify the mystery. Therefore it took Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson less than a minute to seek the light for herself.
The mistress of the house entered the drawing room flutelike but dominant, and her unexpected appearance came to the visitor, who was girding herself to do battle with some one very different, as a complete surprise. Frankly, almost naïvely quizzical, the lady of the house made no secret of a desire for information. “Perhaps you will tell me who you are and then I will tell Miss Cass.”
Somehow Girlie had not been able to foresee that it would be necessary to provide herself with a name. But only too clearly a name was required. And on the spur of the moment there was only one that came to her. Almost in spite of herself it now sprang automatically to her lips.
“Lady Elfreda Catkin.”
It was a terrible blunder, and this Girlie realized at the very moment in which it was made. But, taken so completely by surprise, and faced with the calm insistence of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, no middle course seemed open. If anything, however, this revelation of identity added fuel to the flame of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s curiosity. The mystery surrounding the new governess appeared to deepen considerably. And it grew more intriguing than ever.
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was visibly impressed. Her first thought was that Miss Cass’s boast of the Lancelots being old friends of her mother’s was in some sort corroborated, her second thought was that the distinguished friends of the new governess made her so interesting that she was rather glad than otherwise that Miss Cass had not yet received a month’s notice. For the past four days, in fact, almost from the moment of the arrival of Dolores Parbury, who had taken a violent dislike to Miss Cass, the mistress of The Laurels had been at the point of terminating the engagement of that lady. But for some reason or other the drastic step had remained in abeyance, and as Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson made a dignified progress to the schoolroom she was inclined to rejoice that it had.