SPEAKING figuratively, the heavens fell. The scene which appalled the
mother of these cherished darlings was more than she could bear. As
soon as Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson realized what was taking place before
her eyes it was just as much as ever personal dignity could achieve to
save her from falling tooth and nail upon the governess.
“Miss Cass, are you mad?”
For a few brief, glad moments Miss Cass may have been mad. But as the
governess released the gasping Miss Joan and confronted Miss Joan’s
mamma she was perfect mistress of herself once more. All the same,
there was a dangerous spark in the center of each sapphire blue eye.
“I consider it an outrage, Miss Cass!” The speech was punctuated with a
stamp of fury.
“Little beast!” That may or may not have been the phrase that fell
from under the breath of the scornful Miss Cass. But as she stood
tense as an arrow returning look for look, it sounded uncommonly like
it. The fingers of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson fairly itched to fly at the
little vixen; indeed it was almost a miracle that they did not, but an
ever-present sense of personal dignity was again her salvation.
As for Miss Cass, she was amazing. The light in her eyes positively
invited the older and the weightier lady to a rough and tumble. It was
that light, no doubt, which enabled Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to realize
that the situation was now at the extreme verge of the permitted for
really well-bred people. Certainly, if the human eye can speak Miss
Cass asked Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson “to come on.”
Of course, as a very little reflection showed, it was quite impossible
for Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to oblige her. Besides, as soon as the
outraged maternal feelings had steadied themselves a bit, they found a
trick worth two of that.
For a week past, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had been a painful pilgrim in
the valley of decision. Should she or should she not send away the
new governess? With a feeling of “uplift” perilously akin to joy she
decided suddenly to dismiss Miss Cass upon the spot.
It was the only thing to do. But the act itself in its barbaric
simplicity was very stimulating.
“I must ask you to pack up your boxes, Miss Cass.” In Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson’s anger there was a quality of suppressed splendor
which made it sublime. Besides, the phrase itself was an unconscious
plagiarism from the previous day’s ill-fated masterpiece at the
Assembly Rooms: in very similar terms had Sir Toby’s ill-fated heroine
received her _congé_.
But Miss Cass remained unmoved, stoical, cynically indifferent.
“Please have them packed immediately. I will ask Miss Parbury to look
out a train to London for you.”
That excellent afterthought came as a final bolt. The incensed lady
paused dramatically to mark its effect. Miss Cass did not blench.
Unquestionably, such a shaft must have gone right home, but the little
governess knew how to conceal the wound.
The whole scene was decidedly humiliating, but after all, it didn’t
matter particularly--at any rate, to the Lady Elfreda Catkin. What was
going to matter was the triumph of Miss Parbury. A very attractive
young soldier would have to be abandoned to the siren of Birmingham.
It was just there that the shoe really began to pinch. A moment’s
thought showed Elfreda that in any case the shoe must have pinched
just there. That romance had already reached its appointed end. Still,
it was a trifle galling to be “sacked” so ignominiously. Miss Parbury
would gloat. Yes, it was rather astute of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to ask
that lady to look out a train!
“I’m afraid, Miss Cass”--in the exhilaration of the hour Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson became flutelike once more--“it will be quite
impossible to give you a reference. And I shall write at once to Canon
Carnaby to say so. I am exceedingly sorry. In regard to your salary,
I shall consult my husband. Here are two pounds which will take you
to your home.” The magisterial lady produced a brace of reluctant
Bradburys. “You may or may not be entitled to a full month. As I say,
I must consult my husband.”
There was not the slightest need for Miss Cass to smile. Such a moment
should have been really painful, at any rate to a properly constituted
mind. But Miss Cass did smile, moreover so scornfully that Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson found it hard to veil her fury.
“Please go at once and pack your boxes, Miss Cass. There is a train to
London about two, I believe. But Miss Parbury will be able to tell you.”
“Pray don’t give any one trouble on my account.” The tone of Miss Cass
had the bite of an acid. “I am reasonably good with a Bradshaw.” The
calm effrontery of the creature was astounding.
“I am sure Miss Parbury will consider it a pleasure.” A shade below the
belt, no doubt, but then there are no Queensbury Rules for the ladies,
God bless them!
Beneath the entranced gaze of Master Peter and Miss Joan the hated Miss
Cass made a slow and dignified exit. They were quite surprised that she
didn’t even slam the door. But if looks are a guide she must have been
really sorry for herself that she was so awfully much of a lady.
“Jo-an darling, run and ask dear Dolores to look out the London trains.
Or stay, I’ll go and ask her myself. And then I’ll write to Canon
Carnaby.”