"I think she is one of the best women I ever met," was the enthusiastic reply; "she is almost perfection, so unselfish and so unobtrusive in everything she does."
"Yes; Langley is Langley; but she is a trifle too melancholy for my taste. I don't like people to go through life in a sort of 'patience on a monument' attitude. One suspects all manner of strange back-grounds, and then it is so provoking. Langley is Langley, of course, but I like Cathy best."
"Have you known them long, Miss Cunningham?"
"Ever since I was so high," putting her hand about three feet from the ground. "I used to call Mr. Clayton Garth once, till he got so big and grand that he used to frighten me; not that I am at all frightened of him or any other man now," she continued, with a curl of her lip, "one sees their weaknesses too plainly for that. How long are you going to stay at Church-stile House, Miss Marriott?"
"About three weeks, I believe, that is, until the cottage is ready for us. You know, I suppose, that we remain in Hepshaw. I am the new school-mistress. Mr. Clayton and Mr. Logan have elected me," explained Queenie simply; but, nevertheless, making the statement with some reluctance. She had a notion that Miss Cunningham would think it strange.
Dora absolutely started, and then bit her lip.
"You! Why you must be joking!"
"No indeed, Miss Cunningham."
"Why did they not tell me? It is Cathy's doing, I suppose, to keep you near her, you are great friends I hear; but I am surprised Mr. Clayton allowed it for a moment. You,—excuse me, Miss Marriott, but I cannot get over my surprise,—you look so unlike a school-mistress. Did you ever see your predecessor, Miss Drake?"
Queenie shook her head. She felt a little discomposed; the cool scrutiny of the blue eyes did not please her. Dora's searching glance took in every detail—the well-gloved hands, the dainty French tie, the little brown hat with its pheasant's wing, all the finish and detail that marks the gentlewoman's taste.