‘No; at least I have never heard her,’ he replied.
‘Lady Maria does; did she sing?’
‘No.’
‘Lady Maria sings. She has had lessons from an Italian master; I saw a little drawing of him that is in her workbox. What could Miss Raeburn do that you thought her so wonderful?’ persisted Agneta.
Crauford knit his brows. Cecilia’s general mastery of life was difficult to explain, nor, indeed, did he quite understand it himself.
‘She is so—so ladylike,’ he said.
‘Why do you always say that? Miss Raeburn was only a companion; now Lady Maria has a title.’
People were much more outwardly snobbish in those days than they are now that the disease has become internal; at present, it would scarcely be possible to make such a speech and survive it.
‘You know nothing about it. Miss Raeburn was Lady Eliza’s relation and she called her her niece. And why do you say “was”? She is not dead.’
‘I don’t know; I suppose, because we need not trouble about her any more. Do tell me what she was like, Crauford, I have so often wanted to know. Do, do, dear Crauford!’