‘Oh yes, you have,’ said Otho, with effrontery; ‘but you’ve very likely forgotten. She is my only friend—amongst the women, that is.’
‘Ah! an elderly woman?’
‘About my own—well, she’s a year or so older than I am.’
‘Oh! An invalid, I suppose?’
‘Why the—— What on earth makes you think she should be an invalid?’
‘If she is neither old nor ill, I can’t understand why I am being taken to see her. What should prevent her from coming to call upon me, in the usual order of things?’
Otho was embarrassed, and annoyed too. This extremely simple question of Eleanor’s showed him, in a sudden flash, that Magdalen’s behaviour was not exactly courteous. Stealing a side glance at his sister, he realised that when she came to meet Magdalen, she might consider the latter had been insolent in her pretensions. Eleanor, to use his own phrase, knew what was what, every bit as well as Magdalen did. Free and natural though her manner was, he had known enough of his Aunt Emily to be aware that no one brought up by her could remain in ignorance as to any social usages. In his haste to bring Magdalen’s influence into the field, he had made a mistake, and she probably did not care whether Eleanor were offended or no. All he could say to get himself out of his difficulty was—
‘We’re a neighbourly lot here, when we do happen to be friends. You’ll be disappointed if you expect to find London etiquette at Bradstane.’
‘I daresay,’ said she, with a light laugh. ‘I’ve generally found country etiquette far more burdensome than etiquette in London. That was partly what made me wonder. However, people do get a little rusty in their manners, I daresay, when they live in one small set,’ Eleanor concluded serenely; but there was a sparkle in her eye as she spoke. Her curiosity as to this Miss Wynter was aroused.
Otho burst into a short laugh, as he heard this speech, thinking within himself, ‘I’ll keep that for Magdalen, and treat her to it when she’s pulling me up, some day. Upon my word, this girl is enough to make most others look rusty.’