“What is this you are saying about Miss Douglas, Viola?” she asked, in well-assumed surprise, at the same time giving her daughter a warning glance.
Viola repeated what she had already said, adding some further account of what had transpired in the park.
When she had concluded, her mother turned to Sir Charles, with a grave and sorrowful face.
“I really fear, Sir Charles, that your aunt has been grossly imposed upon. This Miss Douglas, of whom Viola speaks, came over with us from America as governess to the girls. I began to suspect at the very first that she was not just the person I could desire, but I put up with her until about two months ago, when her very unbecoming conduct made it necessary that I should dismiss her immediately.”
“What did she do,” demanded Lady Ruxley, sharply, “that was so dreadful?”
“Really, I am very sorry to be drawn into this very disagreeable matter thus. I dislike to say anything derogatory to any one, but, since you ask, I will say that she took things which did not belong to her, and made herself offensively free with my son, who is now in Germany,” replied Mrs. Coolidge, with every appearance of sorrow that she was obliged to make the confession.
“You’ll have to be older than you are now to make me believe that,” muttered the old lady, indignantly, in an undertone, as she eyed Isabel, and her mother suspiciously, while Viola and Alma looked the daggers they dare not use to defend their beloved Miss Douglas.
The date of her accident and advent into Lady Randal’s house was identical with that of her leaving Mrs. Coolidge, their description of her was the same, and Isabel recalled to Sir Charles the evening of their ramble, when they had seen her at the villa, and she had questioned him regarding the companion.
Every one was convinced now of Brownie’s unworthiness, and believed that she had taken herself out of the way because she feared an exposure on the part of Mrs. Coolidge, and dare not meet it; or that she had eloped, but who with, was the question.
All but Lady Ruxley.