My sarcasm was wasted. Miss Morley said again that she did approve, of what she had seen, and added that we seemed to have chosen very well.
“I don't suppose,” said Hephzy, complacently, “that there are many much prettier places in England than this one.”
“Oh, indeed there are. But all England is beautiful, of course.”
I thought of Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, but I did not refer to it. Our guest—or my “niece”—or our ward—it was hard to classify her—changed the subject.
“Have you met any of the people about here?” she asked.
Hephzy burst into enthusiastic praise of the Baylisses and the curates and the Coles.
“They're all just as nice as they can be,” she declared. “I never met nicer folks, at home or anywhere.”
Frances nodded. “All English people are nice,” she said.
Again I thought of Mrs. Briggs and again I kept my thoughts to myself. Hephzy went on rhapsodizing. I paid little attention until I heard her speak my name.
“And Hosy thinks so, too. Don't you, Hosy?” she said.