“She has nice eyes,” thought Mrs Wentworth, “and she seems very amiable. For such a plain girl to be amiable she must be very amiable, I should say.—And thank you very much, Miss—” And she hesitated.
“Forsyth,” said Mrs Helmont. “Miss Forsyth is a very frequent visitor with us,” she went on, her conscience smiting her a little for making over these innocent lambs to the wolf Mabella, whom, truth to tell, she herself was not a little afraid of. But Baxter would not have got all the linen put away yet: there would be time for her to resume and complete the interesting review of her possessions before luncheon if she went at once.
“If you will be so kind, Mabella,” she went on.—“You, dear Mrs Wentworth, will, I know, excuse me. I really am very busy this morning.”
“Of course, of course,” cried Imogen’s mother, delighted to have won the gratifying adjective. “We shall be perfectly happy.—Thank you so much, Miss Forsyth,” and she turned to follow Mabella, Beatrix and the other victim having already disappeared. Trixie managed to hang back on the stairs, however, and to exchange an aside with her double.
“I like you,” she said, “preaching to me about not overdoing it, and there you are, humbugging away to such an extent. Any fool could see you were up to mischief.”
“I know what I’m about, thank you,” said Miss Forsyth. “If you manage your part of it as well, you’ll have no reason to turn upon me. Your mother is incapable of more than one idea at a time, and just now her only thought is to hand over these people to somebody or anybody till luncheon time.”
And long before luncheon time one part of Mabella’s task was accomplished. She had won thoroughly and completely Mrs Wentworth’s confidence, and this with so little difficulty that she almost despised herself as well as her unconscious victim for the ease of the achievement.
“She is charming,” said poor Mrs Wentworth, when at last she found herself alone with her daughter, “quite charming, so kind and unselfish. I really must say I should have felt just a little, a very little strange and uncomfortable arriving so early, and poor dear Mrs Helmont so busy and the elder girls out, if it hadn’t been for Miss Forsyth. It shows how unwise it is to judge by appearances; at first, I confess, I did not at all feel as if I should take to her.”
“I never shall take to her,” said Imogen, bluntly; “I can’t bear her. She has a sort of patronising way that I think is perfectly horrid. Still, I’m glad if she made you more comfortable. I felt horribly uncomfortable, and I don’t think Mrs Helmont is ‘poor dear’ at all: she really didn’t seem the very least glad to see us—hardly as if she knew whom we were. I felt inclined to beg you to go back to London again.”
“My darling!” exclaimed Mrs Wentworth in horror.