XXXVI
Thenews traveled quickly. Dear Dolores received it almost at once; and received it, moreover, with a modesty that did credit to her self-respect; but as she turned her prompt attention to Bradshaw’s Guide she could hardly refrain from humming “Any Time’s Kissing Time” and kindred melodies from Chu Chin Chow. After all, it is neither just nor wise to exact too much of human nature.
The second person to be informed was General Norris. That gentleman, who had just returned from his morning constitutional, was in the act of crossing the hall when he suddenly found himself involved in a riot.
Master Peter and Miss Joan burst out of the schoolroom dancing a sort of fandango.
“She’s got the sack, she’s got the sack!”—Miss Joan.
“Hooray, Hooray, Hooray!”—Master Peter.
Explanations were immediately demanded. Explanations were at once forthcoming.
“You might almost be said to be pleased,” was the sad comment of George Norris at the end of their thrilling story. And he was such a very simple young man that the sound of his voice suggested tears.
“What doyouthink?” The idiom of Miss Joan was a little primitive, no doubt—she took after her father’s side, poor dear child! “She a perfect beast, isn’t she, Pe-tah?”
“A norrible beast,” Petah agreed.
But in the eyes of George Norris there was a look that seemed to contradict them flatly.
He was such a naïf young man that the lurid story of the morning’s war, which to be sure lost nothing in the telling, came as quite a shock. And the shock left him sore, rueful, angry. He was not at all inclined to accept the tale in all its nakedness—things had been left out, things had been put in—and as he had known from the first, these unsportsmanlike women had had “an awful down” on the little governess.
The crux of the matter was that she was a rather special kind of governess. Only too evidently she was used to the best people and the best houses. George Norris was too good a sportsman himself to be hard upon Mrs. T.-S. from whom he had received many kindnesses or upon Miss P. who was by way of being a dasher, but the trouble with these ladies was that they were quite unable to forgive Miss Cass her trick of making them look cheap. A minx, of course, a perfectly charming minx who spent her time scoring them off. She had deserved all she had got. But as man is the being he is in the world of the present, George Norris would have liked beyond all things just now tohave knocked the heads of Master Peter and Miss Joan together.
The young man in his distress, which he had neither the art nor the tact to conceal, sought Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson. He found her seated at a writing table in the morning room. And flanking her, in a low chair by the fire, was Miss Parbury poring over with an air of intense absorption, the intricate pages of Bradshaw’s Guide.
“There’s a train at a quarter-past two, I see,” Miss Parbury announced as General Norris entered the room.
“That is the one. She must go by that.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson dipped her pen augustly. “Tell me, what’s the date, dear?”
Miss Parbury had a doubt as to the date, but General Norris succinctly furnished it from the top ofThe Timesnewspaper which providentially was at hand.
Dear Canon Carnaby,It is with the greatest reluctance that I write to tell you that the governess whom you recommended so highly has not been a success. In fact, she has proved so altogether unsatisfactory that I am having to dispense with her services at a moment’s notice. You will be grieved to learn that I am unable to give her a reference. In my humble opinion she is wholly unsuited to the care of young children. Her temper, to put the case mildly, is under imperfect control and much as it distresses me to have to say so, she does not invariably speak the truth; also her manners leave much to be desired. On several occasions she has been openly and intentionally disrespectful. I am sorry to have to write in this way of one who has been able to recommend herself toyour kindness, but it seems right that you should know the sort of person she really is.With kind regards, believe me, very sincerely yours,M. Eleanor Trenchard-Simpson.
Dear Canon Carnaby,
It is with the greatest reluctance that I write to tell you that the governess whom you recommended so highly has not been a success. In fact, she has proved so altogether unsatisfactory that I am having to dispense with her services at a moment’s notice. You will be grieved to learn that I am unable to give her a reference. In my humble opinion she is wholly unsuited to the care of young children. Her temper, to put the case mildly, is under imperfect control and much as it distresses me to have to say so, she does not invariably speak the truth; also her manners leave much to be desired. On several occasions she has been openly and intentionally disrespectful. I am sorry to have to write in this way of one who has been able to recommend herself toyour kindness, but it seems right that you should know the sort of person she really is.
With kind regards, believe me, very sincerely yours,
M. Eleanor Trenchard-Simpson.
She read the letter over with a glow of quiet satisfaction and then gave it to Miss Parbury for perusal and criticism. Miss Parbury’s criticism was that she didn’t think it was strong enough.
Taking it altogether, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was inclined to think the letter didn’t lack force.
“I don’t know about that.” Miss Parbury fixed one arctic eye upon the mobile countenance of General Norris. “Considering that she has just pretty nearly killed poor Joan.”
“Killed poor Who?” The development of the issue was growing too much for the feelings of an impressionable soldier.
“Didn’t you hear the uproar in the school room, George?” A shade of maternal reproach softened Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s note of indignation.
George confessed that he had not.
“Why, even Cook heard it in the basement. And when I went into the schoolroom what do you suppose was happening?”
George had not the faintest idea.
“I found Miss Cass”—it was the voice of a Niobe mourning her young—“shaking the life—literally shaking the life out of the poor darling.”
“Well, the poor darling seems a pretty lively corpse, I must say.”
It was, of course, a remark that ought not to have been made. A military career has a tendency to make the best and the nicest of men unfeeling. There was that to be said for George Norris. Both ladies, however, were clearly wounded a little. Their quiet air of triumph was almost vanquished by such gaucherie. Men are so amazing! Some men are, at any rate. How was it possible to defend such a creature! Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson painted a full-length portrait of the wicked Miss Cass, and as a final touch invited the young man to read the letter she had just addressed on the subject to the Rector of Laxton.
The invitation was an error of judgment. And it really seemed odd that one so conspicuously a member of the sex which specializes in finesse in all its branches should have made such a mistake.
George Norris read the letter to Canon Carnaby with amazement. Nay with more than amazement. The young man found it hard to conceal his wrath.