Grace bridled a little; her influence was beginning to make itself felt even on this rough man, she thought.
"I am not sure that the callers are just in your line," he said, after a momentary pause. "Some are I doubt beneath your level, and some I fancy a good bit above it."
"No one can be above Grace's level," exclaimed Margaret, "she is so clever, and——"
"Tut, tut," he said, "I wish every one had so good a trumpeter, but Grace is nothing very wonderful—I have not seen any proof of her cleverness. Come now, Margaret, what can she do? Can she sew a seam, knit a stocking, turn her hand to any useful thing, eh?"
"Grace could do everything of the kind if she chose."
"Then she had better try; it's worse to have talents and let them lie idle than to be born with none."
"If it is necessary," said Grace, still speaking in a measured tone. "I think I could do these things. I do not think knitting a stocking requires a great deal of intellect I must say."
"But it requires industry, and I think you are not industrious; however, my sister, Mrs. Dorriman there, will arrange what you are to do," and, rising in his usual abrupt fashion, he left the room, leaving Grace in a state of mind which is difficult to describe.
Next day, breakfast over, Mrs. Dorriman went to see the cook, outwardly calm but inwardly with very great trepidation.
She herself was one of those quiet people who have a genius for household management, and she was blessed with that happy absence of irritability and anxiety to domineer, which wins its own way without any violent commotion.