“It’s all the odder because my mother-in-law, since her second marriage, has lived so much in the country that she’s practically lost sight of all her other American friends. Besides which, you can see how completely she has identified herself with Monsieur de Chantelle’s nationality and adopted French habits and prejudices. Yet when anything goes wrong she always sends for Adelaide Painter, who’s more American than the Stars and Stripes, and might have left South Braintree yesterday, if she hadn’t, rather, brought it over with her in her trunk.”
Darrow laughed. “Well, then, if South Braintree vouches for Miss Viner—-”
“Oh, but only indirectly. When we had that odious adventure with Mademoiselle Grumeau, who’d been so highly recommended by Monsieur de Chantelle’s aunt, the Chanoinesse, Adelaide was of course sent for, and she said at once: ‘I’m not the least bit surprised. I’ve always told you that what you wanted for Effie was a sweet American girl, and not one of these nasty foreigners.’ Unluckily she couldn’t, at the moment, put her hand on a sweet American; but she presently heard of Miss Viner through the Farlows, an excellent couple who live in the Quartier Latin and write about French life for the American papers. I was only too thankful to find anyone who was vouched for by decent people; and so far I’ve had no cause to regret my choice. But I know, after all, very little about Miss Viner; and there are all kinds of reasons why I want, as soon as possible, to find out more– to find out all I can.”
“Since you’ve got to leave Effie I understand your feeling in that way. But is there, in such a case, any recommendation worth half as much as your own direct experience?”
“No; and it’s been so favourable that I was ready to accept it as conclusive. Only, naturally, when I found you’d known her in London I was in hopes you’d give me some more specific reasons for liking her as much as I do.”
“I’m afraid I can give you nothing more specific than my general vague impression that she seems very plucky and extremely nice.”
“You don’t, at any rate, know anything specific to the contrary?”
“To the contrary? How should I? I’m not conscious of ever having heard any one say two words about her. I only infer that she must have pluck and character to have stuck it out so long at Mrs. Murrett’s.”
“Yes, poor thing! She has pluck, certainly; and pride, too; which must have made it all the harder.” Anna rose to her feet. “You don’t know how glad I am that your impression’s on the whole so good. I particularly wanted you to like her.”
He drew her to him with a smile. “On that condition I’m prepared to love even Adelaide Painter.”
“I almost hope you wont have the chance to–poor Adelaide! Her appearance here always coincides with a catastrophe.”
“Oh, then I must manage to meet her elsewhere.” He held Anna closer, saying to himself, as he smoothed back the hair from her forehead: “What does anything matter but just this? –Must I go now?” he added aloud.
She answered absently: “It must be time to dress”; then she drew back a little and laid her hands on his shoulders. “My love–oh, my dear love!” she said.
It came to him that they were the first words of endearment he had heard her speak, and their rareness gave them a magic quality of reassurance, as though no danger could strike through such a shield.
A knock on the door made them draw apart. Anna lifted her hand to her hair and Darrow stooped to examine a photograph of Effie on the writing-table.
“Come in!” Anna said.
The door opened and Sophy Viner entered. Seeing Darrow, she drew back.
“Do come in, Miss Viner,” Anna repeated, looking at her kindly.
The girl, a quick red in her cheeks, still hesitated on the threshold.
“I’m so sorry; but Effie has mislaid her Latin grammar, and I thought she might have left it here. I need it to prepare for tomorrow’s lesson.”
“Is this it?” Darrow asked, picking up a book from the table.