"I declare," said Mrs. Esthwaite, "I think you take quite an impertinent interest in people's concerns. She wouldn't let you see it, besides."
At which Mr. Esthwaite laughed.
So near people came to it; and Eleanor covered up her troublesome thoughts within her own heart, and gave Mr. Esthwaite the benefit of that impenetrable coolness and sweetness of manner which a good while ago had used to bewitch London circles. In the effort to hide her real thoughts and feelings she did not quite accommodate it to the different latitude of New South Wales; and Mr. Esthwaite was a good deal struck and somewhat bewildered.
"You have mistaken your calling," he said one evening, standing before
Eleanor and considering her.
"Do you think so?"
"There! Yes, I do. I think you were born to govern."
"I am sadly out of my line then," said Eleanor laughing.
"Yes. You are. That is what I say. You ought to be this minute a duchess—or a governor's lady—or something else in the imperial line."
"You mistake my tastes, if you think so."
"I do not mistake something else," muttered Mr. Esthwaite; and then Mr.
Amos entered the room.