Mrs. Germain primmed her lips. “Very charming, I believe. But she’s in private service.”
“Do you mean she’s somebody’s maid, Constantia?” This came briskly from Lady Cantacute, who knew very well what had been meant, but had a kind heart. Mr. John Germain, while watching the players, listened.
“I think you must know her,” Mrs. James explained. “She is governess—I suppose you would call it—to Nunn’s family. Nursery-governess, I fancy, is the phrase. She teaches in our Sunday-school, it is true; but that is a privilege rather than a duty. At least, we consider it so.”
“Quite so, quite so,” said Mrs. Bingham. “You mean that one doesn’t pay——”
“Of course one doesn’t,” replied the Rector’s wife, and would have closed the discussion.
But her brother-in-law reopened it by saying that she appeared to him an attractive young lady, and caused Mrs. James to sniff.
“I should not have said that; indeed, we think her plain.” Surely enough of the young person: but the conversation hung about her yet.
“She has pretty manners,” Lady Cantacute considered; and her eyes were good. Mrs. James allowed her eyes. “They speak, I believe, upon occasion,” she added. “But I am rather deaf to that kind of language.”
“Perhaps, my dear Constantia, they don’t address themselves to you,” said Lady Cantacute, and Mr. Germain, stretching his arms forward to the fulness of comfort, resumed his observation of Oranges and Lemons. Cecily Bingham heard the click of his clasped fingers.
“Very possibly I should be the last to receive them,” Mrs. James was heard to say, “though I believe they address themselves otherwise impartially.”