“This girl hasn't been very good, and she has to go from the village, or else her family have. He wants me to find a place for her in London.”
“I see; and she hasn't been very good?”
“Not very.” She knew that her cheeks were flushing, but her eyes felt steady, and seeing that his eyes never moved, she did not mind. She went on:
“It's Sir Gerald Malloring's estate. Lady Malloring—won't—”
She heard a snap. Mr. Cuthcott's mouth had closed.
“Oh!” he said, “say no more!”
'He CAN bite nicely!' she thought.
Mr. Cuthcott, who had begun lightly thumping the little table with his open hand, broke out suddenly:
“That petty bullying in the country! I know it! My God! Those prudes, those prisms! They're the ruination of half the girls on the—” He looked at Nedda and stopped short. “If she can do any kind of work, I'll find her a place. In fact, she'd better come, for a start, under my old housekeeper. Let your cousin know; she can turn up any day. Name? Wilmet Gaunt? Right you are!” He wrote it on his cuff.
Nedda rose to her feet, having an inclination to seize his hand, or stroke his head, or something. She subsided again with a fervid sigh, and sat exchanging with him a happy smile. At last she said: