“No, I shall keep her to give me my tea and get things ready. Don’t read anymore, my dear, but go and amuse yourself with the pictures, or whatever you like,” said Sir John; and like a dutiful daughter she obeyed, as if glad to get away.
“That’s a very charming girl, Gerald,” began Sir John as she left the room. “I’m much interested in her, both on her own account and on her mother’s.”
“Her mother’s! What do you know of her mother?” asked Coventry, much surprised.
“Her mother was Lady Grace Howard, who ran away with a poor Scotch minister twenty years ago. The family cast her off, and she lived and died so obscurely that very little is known of her except that she left an orphan girl at some small French pension. This is the girl, and a fine girl, too. I’m surprised that you did not know this.”
“So am I, but it is like her not to tell. She is a strange, proud creature. Lady Howard’s daughter! Upon my word, that is a discovery,” and Coventry felt his interest in his sister’s governess much increased by this fact; for, like all wellborn Englishmen, he valued rank and gentle blood even more than he cared to own.
“She has had a hard life of it, this poor little girl, but she has a brave spirit, and will make her way anywhere,” said Sir John admiringly.
“Did Ned know this?” asked Gerald suddenly.
“No, she only told me yesterday. I was looking in the Peerage and chanced to speak of the Howards. She forgot herself and called Lady Grace her mother. Then I got the whole story, for the lonely little thing was glad to make a confidant of someone.”
“That accounts for her rejection of Sydney and Ned: she knows she is their equal and will not snatch at the rank which is hers by right. No, she’s not mercenary or ambitious.”
“What do you say?” asked Sir John, for Coventry had spoken more to himself than to his uncle.