Indeed, an astounding change had come over our governess. No longer was her manner frigid; her face, so grey and hard, had softened till it seemed to radiate benevolence. She beamed at Bill and Bunny playing at leap-frog before her chair; she beamed at "Baby," galloping astride of her umbrella; she beamed at Mops, trying to force a date into the mouth of a struggling fox-terrier; she even beamed at me when I caught her eye.
"I trust that your father, the Duke, keeps well," she said to Lord Simon.
"Great old boy," he replied. "Never misses a meet. Been in at the death of nearly four thousand foxes."
"Ah, blood will tell," breathed Mrs. Handsomebody.
"You see," interposed Lady Simon, "the Duke disinherited my husband when he married me. Didn't approve of the Profession. I was Miss Dulcie June, awfully well known. Photographs all over the place. Danced at the Gaiety, y'know."
"I'm sure I have heard of you," said Mrs. Handsomebody.
"Well, the Duke and I ran into each other at a dog show last week, and he was so struck with me, he asked to be introduced, and has asked us all to visit him at Falden Castle. It looks hopeful, don't it?"
"Indeed, yes. But we shall be very sorry to lose you. It is so difficult for me to find suitable companions for my wards, and your children are so—spirited. Of course, blood will tell."
"Just what I say," assented Lady Simon, "for I was a spirited girl, if ever there was one. What with late hours, and toe-dancin' and high-kickin', it's a wonder how I stood it. I think I was like that Sir Galahad chap whose 'strength was as the strength of ten'—"
"Doubtless because your art was pure, my love," put in Lord Simon, with a sly smile.