Jenny caught her breath a trifle. She did not dare to look at Van Hupfeldt, as he had specially warned her against doing so. Like most of her class, she was prepared now to cover any mistake by excessive volubility.
“Did you address her as ‘Miss Gwendoline,’ then?”
“Yes, miss. That is the way on the stage, you know.”
“But this was not on the stage.”
“Quite right, miss, only ladies in the profession mostly uses their stage names in private.”
“My sister never appeared on any stage, to my knowledge.”
Jenny became a little defiant. “Of course, miss,” she answered tartly, “I didn’t know much about my missus’s comin’s and goin’s, but she used to go regular to rehearsal. The call was for eleven and two most days.”
Violet found herself in a new world. What could have come to Gwendoline that she should have quitted her home and gone away among these strange people? And what had she said that this servant-girl should suddenly show the shrew in her?
She glanced toward her mother, who, indeed, was as greatly perturbed as herself. The old lady could scarce comprehend that the talk was of her darling Gwendoline. Then Van Hupfeldt, thinking to lead Violet’s ideas into a fresh channel, broke in: