Part 20 (1/2)
”I'm not saying she isn't friendly to Sara nowadays,” he explained.
”She's changed a good deal in the last few months. I think she's broadening out a bit. Since that visit to Nice, she's been quite different. As a matter of fact, she expects to see a good bit of Sara and you this summer. It's like a spring thaw, by Jove, it is.”
”When does she come to the country?” asked Hetty, bent on breaking his train of confidence.
”In three or four weeks. But, as I was saying, the mater has taken a great fancy to you. She--”
”It's very nice of her.”
”She prides herself, as I said before, but she always makes sure by asking questions.”
”Questions?”
”Yes. Although she could see through you as if you were plate gla.s.s, she made it a point to ask Sara all the questions she could think of. Over in Nice, you know. Of course Sara told her everything, and now she's quite sure she can't be mistaken in people. Really, Miss Castleton, she's very amusing sometimes, mother is.”
Hetty was looking straight ahead, her face set.
”What did Sara tell her about me?”
”Oh, all that was necessary to prove to mother that she was right.
As if it really made any difference, you know.”
”Please explain.”
”What is there to explain? She merely gave your pedigree, as we'd say at the dog show, begging your pardon, ma'am. Pedigrees are a sort of hobby with the mater. She collects 'em wherever she goes.”
He gave his moustache a little twist.
”Then my references are satisfactory, so to speak,” said she, with a wry little smile.
”Perfectly,” said he, with conviction; ”if we are to put any dependence in the intelligence office.”
”Doesn't it stagger Mrs. Wrandall somewhat to reconcile my pedigree to the position I occupy in Sara's household--that of companion, so to say?” asked Hetty, a slight curl to her lip.
He looked rather blank. ”I don't believe she looks at you in just that light,” said he uncomfortably.
”I fancy you'd better enlighten her.”
”Let well enough alone,” quoted he glibly.
”But I AM a companion,” insisted Hetty, a little spot of red in each cheek.
”In a sense, I suppose,” said he affably. ”Of course, Sara puts you down as a friend.”
”I think you'd better understand my real position, Mr. Wrandall,”
said she firmly.
”I do,” said he. ”You are Sara's friend. That's enough for me.
The fact that your father was or is a distinguished English army officer, and some sort of a cousin to a lord, and that you have the entre to fas.h.i.+onable London drawing-rooms, is quite enough for mother. That qualifies you to be companion to anybody, she'd say.