‘Oh no—oh no. I told Lady St. Clair so. It was not half so much, not half so much! only that they were poor people, quite respectable; and that Colonel Hayward recognised her directly. Didn’t I say so? I never, never meant it to be understood——’
‘Mrs. Sitwell evidently thinks—which is a pity—that all my information on the subject is derived from her,’ Lady St. Clair said. ‘She forgets that my husband is Scotch, and that we have many connections about the country. The story is no novelty to me.’
Lady Thompson could bear her dreadful position no longer. She stumbled from her seat, a mass of hot furs, and thrust her teacup into Mr. Sitwell’s hand. ‘Then how was it that Miss Dolly was nearly making a friend of ’er?’ she cried. ‘Oh, let me get away from the fire—there’s a dear!’
This cry of anguish took something from the force of the strong point which the homely lady had made. A little bustle ensued, and general changing of places, in the midst of which Mrs. Jenkinson came in, full of the important contribution which her husband had made to the evidence on the subject. But she found the conclave breaking up, and had no opportunity of putting forth her testimony. It was still discussed in corners. Mrs. Sitwell, quite pale, and very eager and demonstrative, stood under her husband’s shadow, who looked exceedingly severe and grave, making explanations to two ladies aside; and Lady Thompson had been led into the conservatory to recover, where she had been joined by Miss Marsham. These two poor women were in a great state of emotion and excitement. It was not tears, indeed, which the soap-boiler’s wife was wiping from her crimson forehead. Yet she was all but crying, too.
‘I took a fancy to ’er the first day. If she ain’t a lady, Miss Marsham, dear, I don’t know when I ’ave seen one,’ Lady Thompson said.
‘Oh, poor dear! poor dear! If she has made a sacrifice for the sake of her people, who could blame her?’ the other gentle creature cried, with sniffs and sobs. They were the helpless ones who could not affect society—even the suburban society which was led by Lady St. Clair.
Lady Thompson had loosed her great cloak: the coolness of the conservatory gave her courage. ‘How can we help ’er?’ she said. ‘Me and Sir Sam would do anything. And I don’t believe—not one word. Not one word!’ she repeated with emphasis—‘as them cats says.’ She was vulgar, it could not be denied, but her heart was in the right place.
Miss Marsham, poor lady, was not vulgar at all. She could not refuse to believe what was told her, being incapable of understanding how anybody could, as she said, ‘Look her in the face’ and tell a lie—a characteristic which the school children and the people in her district knew and worked pitilessly. ‘Oh, poor dear! poor dear!’ she said, ‘I for one would never, never blame her. There is nothing in the world so natural as to sacrifice yourself, if it’s to do anybody any good. I understand her,’ said the good woman. ‘I am sure there’s been nothing wrong in it. But, oh, I don’t know in the least what to do.’
Lady St. Clair, however, was talking of other things among her guests, who had begun to disperse, and there was no opportunity for Mrs. Jenkinson. This roused that lady to a wholesome sense of opposition, and a growing determination to interfere.