frock—one meets her about the corridors. Gloomy sight. Chestnut hair. Princess-in-exile sort of look.”
“Oh, that! It’s mother’s companion.”
“Poor little devil!” said the Honourable James. “What does she do now the cat’s away? I beg your pardon—my mind was running on mice.”
“Do? I don’t know,” said Lady Yalding a little guiltily. “She’s a good, quiet little thing—literary tastes, reads Browning, and all that sort of rot. She’s all right.”
“Why don’t you give her a show? She’d take the shine out of some of the girls here if you had her dressed.”
“My dear Jim,” Lady Yalding said, “she’s all right as she is. What’s the good of turning the child’s head and giving her notions out of her proper station?”
“If I were that child I’d like to have a little bit of a fling just for once. The poor little rat looks starved, as though it hadn’t laughed for a year. Then it’s Christmas—peace and goodwill, and all that, don’t you know. If I were you I’d ask her down a bit”
Lady Yalding thought—a thing she rarely did.
