e odious French cooks, my
dear, with their shocking principles--the principles of all Frenchmen
are shocking--and the dreadful bills they bring us in; and their
consequential airs and graces? I am determined to part with Brignol. I
have written to your father this evening to give Brignol warning. When
did he ever give us veal-cutlets? What can be nicer?"

"Indeed they were very good," said Miss Ethel, who had mutton five times
a week at one o'clock. "I am so glad you like the house, and Clive, and
Mrs. Honeyman."

"Like her! the dear little old woman. I feel as if she had been my
friend all my life! I feel quite drawn towards her. What a wonderful
coincidence that Dr. Goodenough should direct us to this very house! I
have written to your father about it. And to think that I should have
written to Clive at this very house, and quite forgotten Mrs. Honeyman's
name--and such an odd name too. I forget everything, everything!
You know I forgot your Aunt Louisa's husband's name; and when I was
godmother to her baby, and the clergyman said, 'What is the infant's
name?' I said, 'Really I forget.' And so I did. He was a London
clergyman, but I forget at what church. Suppose it should be this very
Mr. Honeyman! It may have been, you know, and then the coincidence would
be still more droll. That tall, old, nice-looking, respectable person,
with a mark on her nose, the housekeeper--what is her name?--seems a
most invaluable person. I think I shall ask her to come to us. I am
sure she would save me I don't know how much money every week; and I am
certain Mrs. Trotter is making a fortune by us. I shall write to your
papa, and ask him permission to ask this person." Ethel's mother
was constantly falling in love with her new acquaintances; their
man-servants and their maid-servants, their horses and ponies, and the
visitor within their gates. She would ask strangers to Newcome, hug
and embrace them on Sunday; not speak to them on Monday; and on Tuesday
behave so rudely to them, that they were gone before Wednesday. Her
daughter had had so many governesses--all darlings during the first
week, and monsters afterwards--that the poor child possessed none of the
accomplishments of her age. She could not play on the piano; she
could not speak French well; she could not tell you when gunpowder
was invented: she had not the faintest idea of the date of the Norman
Conquest, or whether the earth went round the sun, or vice versa. She
did not k