“Is that the name of your present governess?” inquired the lady, evincing some interest.
“Yes.”
“Florence Harper?”
“Yes. Do you know any thing about her?”
“I knew her mother when I was a girl,” replied the lady,—“though I never fancied her a great deal. She had too much mock dignity for me. She married very well, and for some time moved in moderately good society. But her husband failed in business several years ago, and died shortly afterward, I think. So it is her daughter you have for a governess! How things will come around! There was a time when she seemed to think I wasn’t good enough to associate with her; and now her daughter has come down to the position of a hireling. Well, well! Isn’t this a queer world? If Florence is like her mother, I don’t think she will suit.”
“She puts on airs above her station,” said Mrs. Dainty.
“An inherited fault. Her mother had a way of looking down upon everybody. I couldn’t bear her!”
“Humph! This spawn of hers actually assumed to put herself on a level with me, and to ‘approve’ my opinions in regard to the children’s education! I was too provoked!”
“You’ll always have trouble with her,” said the lady. “The stock isn’t right. Is Agnes taking lessons in music?” she inquired, in a pause that followed. The sound of a piano had for some time been heard.
Mrs. Dainty drew out her watch as she answered in the affirmative. She saw that it was half-past twelve o’clock. A moment or two she listened, while a serious expression came into her face.