Carmella Commands
newest comers—they’re complicated, somehow, by having lived here, and by their children who—who—well, you know, Mrs. Barrington, by the complexity of it all.”
“Complicated by its complexity is an excellent explanation, Miss Sargle, if we don’t want to do anything about it,” said Mrs. Barrington icily.
Miss Sargle flushed. The institute had taught her more about classes than it had about sponsors.
She was beginning to feel cheated by her education, when she had a happy inspiration.
“Couldn’t Mrs. Scalzo tell you?” she asked.
Mrs. Scalzo was the skilled lace-maker who actually taught the class under Mrs. Barrington’s direction.
“She might, if she would. But for some reason she won’t. I’ve asked her. So that is that.”
“Then,” said Miss Sargle, “I’m afraid⸺”
Mrs. Barrington cut through:
“Who is there around here who would know, and would tell, and talks English?”
“That’s a hard question,” said Miss Sargle, clasping her hands. “Probably it’s some indefinite feeling—something hard to explain, even if they were good at explaining, which they aren’t. One would need long intimacy⸺”
“Aren’t you intimate with them yet?” demanded Mrs. Barrington.
“Remember, please, that I’ve been here only a few months. And there are a good many branches to the
[3]
