er stammering voice mentioning that
the English had no idea of life or cookery, that God had so made
this country by mistake that everything, even the sun, knew it. What,
however, would she drink? Chardonnet? It wasn't bad here.

She assented, not liking to confess that she did not know what
Chardonnet might be, and hoping it was some kind of sherbet. She had
never yet drunk wine, and after a glass felt suddenly extremely strong.

"Well," said Mr. Cuthcott, and his eyes twinkled, "what's your
botheration? I suppose you want to strike out for yourself. MY daughters
did that without consulting me."

"Oh! Have you got daughters?"

"Yes--funny ones; older than you."

"That's why you understand, then."

Mr. Cuthcott smiled. "They WERE a liberal education!"

And Nedda thought: 'Poor Dad, I wonder if I am!'

"Yes," Mr. Cuthcott murmured, "who would think a gosling would ever
become a goose?"

"Ah!" said Nedda eagerly, "isn't it wonderful how things grow?"

She felt his eyes suddenly catch hold of hers.

"You're in love!" he said.

It seemed to her a great piece of luck that he had found that out. It
made everything easy at once, and her words came out pell-mell.

"Yes, and I haven't told my people yet. I don't seem able. He's given me
something to do, and I haven't much experience."

A funny little wriggle passed over Mr. Cuthcott's face. "Yes, yes; go
on! Tell us about it."

She took a sip from her glass, and the feeling that he had been going to
laugh passed away.

"It's about the daughter of a laborer, down there in Worcestershire,
where he lives, not very far from Becket. He's my cousin, Derek, the
son of my other uncle at Joyfields. He and his sister feel most awfully
strongly about the laborers."

"Ah!" said Mr. Cuthcott, "the laborers! Queer how they're in the air,
all of a sudden."

"This girl hasn't been very good, and she has to go from the village, or
else her family have. He wants me to find a place for her in London."

"I see; and she hasn't been very good?"

"Not very." She knew that her cheeks were flushing, but her eyes felt
steady, and seeing that his eyes never moved, she did not mind. She went
on:

"It's Sir Gerald Malloring's estate. Lady Malloring--won't--"

She heard a snap. Mr. Cuthcott's mouth had closed.

"Oh!" he said, "say no more!"

'He CAN bite nicely!' she thought.

Mr. Cuthcott, who had begun lightly thumping the little table with his
open hand, broke out suddenly