For the first time, strange to say, it struck Philippa that this—her surname, that is to say—was as yet an unknown quantity. She was fortunately not one of those people who change colour on small provocation.
“Mrs Headfort calls me Phillis,” she said, slowly.
The housekeeper looked rather surprised.
“Phillis,” she repeated; “that is a first name. I suppose it’s with her having known you so long; but it was your surname I meant. It wouldn’t do for the servants here to call you by your first name. Of course in a big house like this we have to be very particular.”
“Of course,” said Philippa, rather coldly. Then recollecting herself—“My last name,” she said, “is ‘Ray’—‘Phillis Ray,’” and she smiled slightly in spite of herself.
“Then ‘Miss Ray’ you must be to every one here but myself,” said Mrs Shepton. “There are not so many visitors among us just now as sometimes. There’s only Mrs Worthing’s maid—a very experienced person, much older than you; and Mr Gresham’s valet, Mr Furze, a quiet young man, and of course he’s so often here with his master that he’s scarcely like a stranger. But when we are by ourselves as just now, my dear, I should like to call you Phillis; I had a sister once of that name—long ago.”
“Yes, please do,” said Philippa, heartily.—“Mr Gresham, did you say,” she continued. “Is that a gentleman with a dog? I saw the name on some luggage at the station, which must have belonged to him. They travelled part of the way in our train—in the carriage I was in—second-class, but I didn’t see any valet.”
There was a touch of curiosity in her tone, which rather surprised and possibly disappointed the housekeeper.
“The Mr Gresham I alluded to,” she said, somewhat stiffly, “has been staying here some time. The young gentleman who came down to-day is Mr Michael, his cousin. You must excuse me, my dear, if I remind you not to speak of your lady as Mrs Headfort, but as Mrs Marmaduke,” she went on. “She is, of course, Mrs Headfort next to my lady, but still—”
“Certainly,” interrupted Philippa, heartily, “I will be careful about it. Thank you for reminding me, Mrs Shepton. And indeed,” she continued, “I should be very much obliged to you if you will tell me—me myself—of anything you think I require advice about. I am not very experienced, as you can see;” and in her own mind she thought, “this is an excellent precaution to take. It will prevent any gossip about me which might not otherwise come to my ears. For I am sure this good woman is thoroughly to be trusted. And if the Mr Gresham here really proves to be the one I met at Dorriford, I must be doubly on the alert. It is really too strange a coincidence.”