“Yes; I understand. Is Miss Eyrecourt an only child?”
“She had two sisters, Father Benwell. One of them is in a convent.”
“Ah, indeed?”
“And the other is dead.”
“Sad for the father and mother, Miss Notman!”
“Pardon me, sad for the mother, no doubt. The father died long since.”
“Aye? aye? A sweet woman, the mother? At least, I think I have heard so.”
Miss Notman shook her head. “I should wish to guard myself against speaking unjustly of any one,” she said; “but when you talk of ‘a sweet woman,’ you imply (as it seems to me) the domestic virtues. Mrs. Eyrecourt is essentially a frivolous person.”
A frivolous person is, in the vast majority of cases, a person easily persuaded to talk, and not disposed to be reticent in keeping secrets. Father Benwell began to see his way already to the necessary information. “Is Mrs. Eyrecourt living in London?” he inquired.
“Oh, dear, no! At this time of year she lives entirely in other people’s houses—goes from one country seat to another, and only thinks of amusing herself. No domestic qualities, Father. She would know nothing of the order of the dishes! Lady Loring, I should have told you, gave way in the matter of the sweetbread. It was only at quite the latter part of my ‘Menoo’ (as the French call it) that she showed a spirit of opposition—well! well! I won’t dwell on that. I will only ask you, Father, at what part of a dinner an oyster-omelet ought to be served?”