Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
that is her business. . . If Mrs. Surdan had dared to propose such a thing, I really think I should have asked her to leave the house. . .
“Surely,” I said, “you are the best person to look after Hilda. I go out very little; but, so far as I can judge, there is never any difficulty about getting to know people in London. If you were to take a house in some good neighbourhood and entertain a certain amount—”
“I should only be a handicap to Hilda,” she interrupted.
Do you know, I thought that dear of her. . . It is the Lancashire “burr”, is it not? She had that—not disagreeably, but it was there. And her directness, never rounding the edge of anything she said. . . The girl, you will find, has been polished without being made genteel. If you catch them young, a good school . . . or a governess whose ear has been trained to detect and suppress those tell-tale oddities of speech. . . But you don’t often find a mother with the wisdom to recognize that and keep herself out of sight. . .
“I don’t know what to recommend,” I said. “It would be no kindness to ask her to stay here. I am a dull old woman; there are no girls to keep her company; and my husband and I have long found that, in entertaining, it
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