"Yes; his pretty French wife died fifteen years ago. He met her in Canada, but she was a Parisian pur sang, and of a very good family. She had gone to Montreal with her mother, to visit some relations—uncle, cousin, or what-not. It was a very happy marriage, and Suzette is a very charming girl. She is a Papist"—with a faint sigh—"which, of course, is a pity. But even in spite of that, she is a very sweet girl."
"Worthy that you should turn your house out of window in order to introduce her to the neighbourhood in the pleasantest possible manner," said Allan. "My greenhouse is only a bachelor's idea of glass, but any flowers there shall be sent to add to your decorations—at least, if you don't despise such poor aid."
"How truly nice of you! Every flower will be useful. I want to make the rooms pretty, since nothing can make them spacious. Ah, if I had only the Manor House now—those noble rooms of which Mrs. Wornock makes so little use!"
Allan seized his opportunity.
"Mrs. Wornock is the most singular woman I ever met!" he exclaimed quickly, lest Mrs. Mornington should diverge to another subject. "I took my mother to call upon her——"
"Had she called upon Lady Emily?" asked Mrs. Mornington, surprised.
"No. It was altogether out of order, my mother told me; but I rather insisted upon her going to Discombe. I wanted her to see Mrs. Wornock; and I must say that lady's manner was calculated to excite wonder rather than admiration. I never saw a woman of mature years receive a visitor so awkwardly. Her shyness would have been remarkable in a bread-and-butter miss just escaped from the schoolroom."
"That is so like Mrs. Wornock. The ways of society are a foreign language to her. Had you taken her a German organist with long hair, or a spiritualist, or an esoteric Buddhist, she would have received him with open arms—she would have been simpatica to the highest degree, and would have impressed him with the idea of a sensitive nature and a temperament akin to genius, while I dare say Lady Emily thought her a fool."
"She certainly did not give the lady credit for superior intelligence."
"Of course not. She has not even average intelligence in the affairs of social life. She has lived all these years at Discombe—she might be in touch with some of the best people in the county—and she has learnt nothing, except to play the organ. I believe she has toiled unremittingly at that," concluded Mrs. Mornington, contemptuously.