Janet had her eyes on the tablecloth so she could not see his face, but she listened to his words with thankfulness and exasperation. What a mixture the man was, making you like him one minute, and dislike him the next! Mean about money, odiously domineering, and yet she couldn’t really hate him; she had always relied on impressions, and she could still feel the glow of companionship as they talked in the spinney, and the friendliness there had been between them when they had discussed Iris in the stable; he was two people really. Perhaps if she subdued herself to what a daily governess ought to be, she would only see the nice side; being a docile governess ought to bring all the best out of him, because then the two guineas wouldn’t rankle, for he would feel he was getting his money’s worth.

Gladys leant back in her chair while Mrs. Honeywell put the vegetable dishes in front of her.

“What lessons did you do this morning, Iris?”

“Nothing, really. Me and Janet had a lovely morning making plans.”

Janet felt this was a deplorable picture of how two guineas’ worth of governess spent her time. She turned to Donald.

“We worked out a timetable. It seems to me special hours will have to be given to arithmetic. Iris is very weak in that subject.”

“Dear! Dear!” Donald’s voice was so grave that it was clear he was making fun of her statement. “What a dreadful thing! I hoped to hear she was sufficiently advanced to start algebra.”

“Silly Daddy!” Iris said contentedly. “Me and Janet did some bot’ny.”

“Janet and I,” Janet corrected.

“Is Janet making you learn the Latin names of the plants?” Donald teased.

The Christian name had fallen off his tongue with the unforced ease which means that is how the mind is normally thinking. Janet found that his using it gave her pleasure; she was not introspective, she did not reason why, she just knew that it made her feel less ruffled. It had the exactly opposite effect on Gladys. Her deep voice broke up the intimate, happy atmosphere the lesson talk was creating.

“Sit up, and eat tidily, Iris. How often am I to tell you not to talk when you’re eating!” Then with a complete change of tone: “It’s your fault, Donald, you lead her on, you naughty man.”

The kittenish tone of the last words went badly with her appearance. To Janet the effect was embarrassing. Donald was evidently too used to it to find it that, but he clearly felt that Gladys needed soothing.

“I’m sorry, but she’s only just got her plate; I won’t speak another word to her until she’s finished.”