Mrs Shepton’s own voice had a trifle of stiffness in it as she replied:
“You have no need, my dear, to be either familiar or stand-off; our upper servants are all of a superior class, and, indeed, the younger ones too are most respectably connected.”
Philippa in an instant saw her mistake.
“Oh, pray,” she said, eagerly, “pray don’t think I was hinting at anything of that kind. I mean,”—and she could not help reddening as she spoke—“any sort of ‘giving myself airs’ as it is called. I really want your advice and opinion as to my behaviour.”
The housekeeper softened in a moment.
“Any one could see,” she said, “that you have been brought up in a superior way. It is not giving yourself airs to be what you have naturally come to be, and no one of this house will like you the less for the advantages it’s plain you’ve had—” She hesitated and stopped. The good woman was as little of a gossip as it was possible for one in her position to be, but she had begun to look for some kind of confidence on the young girl’s part, some allusion to her home and childhood, to her parents and bringing up, in return for what she herself had already related to “Phillis Ray” of her own past history. For something about Philippa had almost at once appealed to her sympathy, and this want of response was just a trifle disappointing. Mrs Shepton glanced at her again. Philippa’s eyes were cast down; indeed, the spectacles at all times made it rather difficult to judge of their expression. More than once the housekeeper had been on the point of begging her to lay them aside for a little, that she might see “how she looked without them.” Just now, however, it was impossible not to notice by her whole attitude and bearing that she was somewhat anxious and depressed, and the elder woman’s kind heart was touched; there might be reasons why the girl could not tell her more.
“I think, perhaps,” she went on after the little pause of half expectation, “as you wish me to speak frankly, that you might join rather more in the conversation—at supper especially. There’s that maid of Mrs Worthing’s—I don’t know her well, she’s never been here before—has not looked at you very pleasantly sometimes, and it doesn’t do in this world to make enemies if you can help it.”
Philippa started slightly.
“Do you mean the one they call Miss Bailey?” she said. “I really have scarcely noticed her. I—”
“That’s just it,” interrupted Mrs Shepton; “not being noticed offends some people more than anything you could say to them.”