Elizabeth gazed at her. There was admiration, frank and genuine admiration, in her eyes. Of course Mrs. Trimwell had merely voiced her own entire opinion, but quite probably it was on this very account that the admiration was thus unstinted. There is the same curious pleasure in finding another at one with you on a matter even slightly near your heart, as there is in finding your own unexpressed and half-articulate thoughts in the pages of some book. Also there was admiration for the fact that Mrs. Trimwell had arrived at so rapid a conclusion. Elizabeth totally forgot that her own conclusion had been even more rapid.
“I shall never,” said Elizabeth, “be able to speak with half your verve.”
Though totally ignorant of the last word, Mrs. Trimwell was aware that same compliment was intended.
“You’ll put it a sight more polished than I can,” she remarked bluntly.
“He’d prefer the original speech,” smiled Elizabeth.
“But he’ll not get it,” Mrs. Trimwell’s voice was grim. “I knows my place.”
Elizabeth raised amused eyebrows.
“And all the time you’ve been assuring me that it isn’t a question of rights,” she protested.
“There’s rights and rights,” announced Mrs. Trimwell, “and ’tis you’ve the bigger right than me. You’re gentle-folk, same as he, and he’ll take it better from you. I’d speak fast enough, Lor’ bless you, if there wasn’t you to do it.”
She turned again to her ironing.