'Harper isn't at all an uncommon name,' interrupted Jacinth.
But Miss Mildmay did not resent the little discourtesy—her mind was pursuing its own train of thought. 'I don't know that it would follow that she could know anything of them,' she said. 'Some of the last generation of Harpers were sadly unsatisfactory, and I believe the old man, Lady Myrtle's father, disinherited one or more of his sons. So if you ever go to Robin Redbreast, girls, I think it would be just as well not to mention your school-fellows of the name.'
Jacinth shot a rather triumphant glance at her sister.
'It is generally better, and more well-bred, not to begin about "Are you related to the so-and-so's?" or "I have friends of your name," and remarks like that; isn't it, Aunt Alison?' she said. 'I was telling Frances so, only yesterday.'
Frances reddened again.
'Well, yes,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Still, one cannot make a hard and fast rule about such matters. It calls for a little tact.'
She was very inconsistent; who is not? Something in Jacinth's premature wisdom—almost savouring of 'worldly' wisdom—rather repelled her, careful and unimpulsive though she herself was. Then she felt annoyed with her own annoyance: it was unjust to blame the girl, when she herself had been inculcating caution.
'In this case,' she added, 'I am sure it is best to keep off family affairs, you being so young and Lady Myrtle Goodacre so old; and as I know, there have been sore spots in her history.'
Then she rose from the table.
'Francie, dear, I think you had better go to bed early. You are looking tired,' she said kindly, and as she kissed the little girl she almost fancied—was it fancy?—that she felt a touch of dew on her cheek.