Eve had a growing horror of letting Lynette discuss her mother. The child was innocent enough, but it seemed treacherous and unfair to listen, and made Eve despise herself, and shiver with a sense of nearness to those sexual problems that are covered with the merest crust of make-believe.
“Oh, here’s Vancie!”
Eve glanced up and saw the governess approaching along the brick-paved path. Miss Vance was a matter-of-fact young person, but she was a woman, with some of the more feminine attributes a little exaggerated. She was suburban, orthodox as to her beliefs, absolutely without imagination, yet healthily inquisitive.
“Music, Lynette! What a nice bit of colour to paint, Miss Carfax.”
“Quite Oriental, isn’t it?”
These two women looked at each other, and Eve did not miss the apprizing and critical interest in Miss Vance’s eyes. She was a little casual towards Eve, with a casualness that suggested tacit disapproval. The surface was hard, the poise unsympathetic.
“You ought to have good weather for your holiday. Where are you going?”
“Brighton!”
“Oh, Brighton!”
“We always go to Brighton!”