"Poor Sir Victor! Dreadful indeed. But where in the world, Trixy, did you find all this out? Has he been pouring the family history so soon into your sympathetic ear?"
"Of course not; that's the curious part of the story. You know Mrs.
Featherbrain?"
"I'm happy to say," retorted Miss Darrell, "I know very little about her, and intend to know less."
"You do know her, however. Well, Mrs. Featherbrain has a father."
"Poor old gentleman!" says Miss Darrell, compassionately.
"Old Hampson—that's his name. Hampson is an Englishman, and from
Cheshire, and knew the present Sir Victor's grandfather. He gets the
Cheshire papers ever since he left, and, of course, took an interest
in all this. He told Mrs. Featherbrain—and what do you think?—Mrs.
Featherbrain actually asked Lady Helena."
"It is precisely the sort of thing Mrs. Featherbrain would be likely to do. 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' How copious are my quotations this afternoon. What did Lady Helena say?"
"Gave her a look—a lady who was present told me—such a look. She turned dead white for a minute, then she spoke: 'I never discuss family matters with perfect strangers.' Those were her words—'perfect strangers.' 'I consider your question impertinent, madame, and decline to answer it.' Then she turned her back upon Mrs. Featherbrain; and shouldn't I like to have seen Mrs. Featherbrain's face. Since then, she just bows frigidly to her, no more."
"Little imbecile! Trixy, I should like to see those papers."
"So you can—I have them. Charley got them from Laura Featherbrain.
What could not Charley get from Laura Featherbrain I wonder?" adds
Trix, sarcastically.