“What old woman is this, mamma?” he asked, looking from Mrs. Jeckyl to his mother.
“Why, George! George! Hush! What do you mean? Where are your manners?” And the face of Mrs. Dainty crimsoned.
“You see, Mrs. Jeckyl,” she said, trying to apologize for the child’s rudeness, “how our children ape the coarse manners of these vulgar American domestics. Miss Harper, the governess whom I have just dismissed, has left her mark behind her, as you see; and a very ugly mark it is.”
“She isn’t ugly at all!” exclaimed George, by no means comprehending the drift of his mother’s remark, but understanding clearly enough that Miss Harper was the subject of disparaging words. “She’s beautiful, and I love her. I do!”
“Madeline dear,”—Mrs. Dainty turned from George, over whom she had but little influence, and spoke very pleasantly,—“let me present you to Mrs. Jeckyl, who is to be your governess in the place of Miss Harper.”
But the child, instead of advancing toward Mrs. Jeckyl, stepped back slowly,—as if the woman’s eyes were two broad, strong hands, pushing her away,—receding until she stood against the wall.
“Madeline! Come here this moment! What do you mean?” Mrs. Dainty spoke sharply.
The child now moved, sideling, along the wall, keeping her gaze fixed, as by a kind of fascination, upon Mrs. Jeckyl, until she came opposite lo where her mother was sitting. Then, not withdrawing her eyes for an instant from the strange woman’s face, she came forward and stood by her mother’s side.
“This is my second daughter, Madeline,” said Mrs. Dainty, pushing the child toward Mrs. Jeckyl.
“How are you, my dear?” Mrs. Jeckyl, seeming not to observe the intense repugnance of the child, reached out a hand, and, taking hold of Madeline, drew her almost forcibly to her side.