“Oh! I don’t doubt the training,” said Lady Georgina. “I think she got a start when she saw me—she pretended not to recognise me. Frankly, I don’t like her.”
“Nor do I in my heart,” said Nancy; “but she is very attentive and clever.”
“Clever! too clever,” said Lady Georgina. “Don’t let her pry into your secrets.”
“My secrets—I have none,” said Nance. Then she paused and coloured crimson. She remembered the great secret which pressed upon her day and night.
“Why do you get so red, child?” said Lady Georgina. “You say you have no secrets, but your face says you have. Now, don’t tempt me. If I have a fault, it is curiosity, inordinate curiosity. I never betray a friend, and once I know the truth I never question, and never, never pry; but until I know the truth I am—well, I cannot help it—troublesome. Don’t show me a little, Nance Rowton, for if you do I shall poke out all.”
“I am sure you won’t,” said Nancy—“you are too much of a lady.”
“Now, was there ever such a snub!” said Lady Georgina, tapping her foot somewhat impatiently on the floor as she spoke. “Child, you are quite refreshing. If you speak in that frank way to everyone else you will bowl all the county over; but I hear wheels—more visitors—come along down and I will help you to entertain them.”
Until quite late in the afternoon, until the winter’s day had faded into dark, Nance and Lady Georgina, or rather Lady Georgina herself, entertained the county at Rowton Heights.
Each neighbour with the least pretensions to gentility hastened to pay respect to Rowton’s fair bride.
“You must begin to return all these visits in a few days,” said Lady Georgina.