Part 11 (1/2)

It was part of the spinster's life to subject her companion to a kind of drill in this way. The unfortunate girl's movements were regulated mathematically, and in her more genial and expansive moments Miss Pritchett would explain that her ”nerves” required that this should be so--that she should have absolute control over the movements of any one who was in the room with her.

There had been spirited contests between Miss Pritchett and a long succession of girls who had refused to play the part of automaton, but in Gussie Davies, the lady had found a willing slave. She paid her well, and in return was served with diligence and thorough obsequiousness.

Gussie was adroit, more adroit than her somewhat lymphatic appearance would have led the casual observer to suppose. Properly trained, she might almost have made a psychologist, but her opportunities had been limited. However, for several years, she had directed a sharp brain to the study of one person, and she knew Miss Pritchett as Mr. Sponge knew his Mogg. Her influence with that lady was enormous, the more so in that it was not at all suspected by the object, who imagined that the girl was hers, body and soul. But, nevertheless, Miss Davies, who hailed from Wales and had a large share of the true Cymric cunning, could play upon her mistress with sure fingers, and, while submitting to every form of petty tyranny, and occasionally open insult, she ruled the foolish woman she was with.

Gussie sat down. Miss Pritchett did not speak at once, and the girl judged, correctly enough, that she was meant to open the ball.

”O Miss Pritchett!” she said with a little shudder, ”what a relief it must be to you to be back in your own mansion!”

Nothing pleased the spinster more than the word mansion as applied to her house. Gussie used the term with discretion, employing it only on special occasions, unwilling to be prodigal of so sure a card.

”You may well say that, child,” Miss Pritchett answered faintly.

”Now you must let me ring for a gla.s.s of port for you,” the young lady continued. ”You need it, indeed you do. I'll take the responsibility on myself.”

She rose and rang the bell. ”Two gla.s.ses,” said Miss Pritchett when the answering maid had received her order. ”You shall have a gla.s.s, Gussie, for I feel I am to blame in taking you to such a place. I have seen the world, and I have met women of that cla.s.s before, I am sorry to say. But hitherto I have managed to s.h.i.+eld you from such contamination.”

Gussie sighed the sigh of innocence, a sigh which the young men with whom she larked about in Alexandra Gardens never heard.

”I wish I had your knowledge of the world,” she said. ”But, of course, I've never mixed in society, not like you.”

The port arrived and in a minute or two the experienced damsel saw that her patroness was settling down for a long and confidential chat. The moment promised a golden opportunity, of which she meant to take advantage if she possibly could. She had a big scheme in hand; she was primed with it by minds more subtle than her own. The image of Sam Hamlyn was before her and she burned to deserve that gentleman's commendation.

”Yes,” said Miss Pritchett, ”as a girl, when I used to go to the Lord Mayor's b.a.l.l.s at the Mansion House with papa and mamma, I saw what society really was. And it's worse now! That abandoned hussy at the vicarage is an example of what I mean. I must not go into details before you, child, but I know what I know!”

”How _awful_, Miss Pritchett! I saw her making eyes at all the gentlemen before you went up to her.”

”All's fish that comes to the net of such,” replied Miss Pritchett. ”An earl's toy, the giddy bubble floating on the open sewer of a London season, or the sly allurer of an honest young city gentleman. Anything in trousers, child, is like herrings to a cat!”

”How _awful_! Miss Pritchett,” repeated Gussie, wondering what it would be like to be an earl's toy, and rather thinking she would enjoy it. ”I suppose you'll go to the vicarage just as usual, though,--on parish business, I mean.”

This, as the girl expected, provoked a storm, which she patiently endured, certain that she was in a way to gain her ends. At length, the flow of voluble and angry words grew less. Miss Pritchett was enjoying herself too much to risk the girl's non-compliance with her mood.

”There, there,” she said eventually, ”it's only your ignorance I know, Gussie, but you do aggravate me. You don't understand society. Never shall I set foot in that man's house again!”

Gussie gasped. Her face expressed fervent admiration at such a daring resolve, but slight incredulity as well.

The bait took again. ”Never, as I'm a living lady!” said Miss Pritchett, ”and I don't know as I shall ever drive up to the church doors in my carriage on a Sunday morning more! Opinions may change. I _may_ have been--I don't say I _have_ been, yet, mind you--I _may_ have been led away by the false glitter of Roman doctrine and goings on.”

The idea seemed to please the lady. She saw herself picturesque in such a situation.

Gussie started suddenly.

”What's the matter, child?” she was asked tartly; ”do you think no one's got any nerves? Keep still, do!”

”I'm very sorry, Miss Pritchett, but when you said that, I remembered something I was reading last night in the _Hornham Observer_.”

”I was keeping it for Sunday afternoon,” said Miss Pritchett. ”I did mean to go to morning service and then read Mr. Hamlyn's side of last Sunday's proceedings at home, comfortable like. But what's in the paper?”

”A great deal that will interest you, dear Miss Pritchett, though I do not know if you will be pleased.”

”Pleased? What do you mean?”