“All the better—in one sense, that is to say,” replied the old lady briskly. “If she were prejudiced against me too, it would be a bad look-out I can influence her far more if she fancies me impartial.”
“Or partial—to her,” suggested Madelene smiling.
“What does Mrs Robertson say to this escapade of Ella’s? You have heard from her?” asked Lady Cheynes.
“Yes, there is a letter to papa this morning. She is very distressed about it of course, but her principal anxiety seems to be to exonerate Ella. She is dreadfully afraid, evidently, of its vexing papa with her, just at the first.”
“Just what it has done,” said Lady Cheynes; and then they went on to talk of other matters.
At luncheon Ella maintained the same quiet demure tone which amused even while it irritated Madelene. And though Lady Cheynes appeared to take it quite naturally, and even now and then rather acted the part of drawing out the timid little stranger, the twinkle in her bright old eyes from time to time convinced Miss St Quentin that Ella’s godmother knew what she was about.
“And perhaps of us all,” thought Madelene, “she gauges Ella’s character the most correctly.”
The thought in itself was a relief. Madelene no longer felt so perplexed and dispirited. She even could afford to smile, inwardly, at the sight of Ella’s preternaturally resigned expression and meek tone of voice when Ermine told her, rather sharply perhaps, to get ready for their drive, the pony-carriage being already at the door.
“I beg your pardon,” Ella replied. “I did not know, at least not clearly, that you were going to be so kind as to take me a drive.”
“I shall shake her well before long,” said Ermine, as she stood in the hall with her aunt and sister, waiting for the little delinquent. “I can stand her temper and impertinence,” laughing as she used the word. “It’s so absurd and comical. But I can’t stand her suffering-saint-ism. I really can’t.”