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angered Mrs.
Poulteney. "Monsieur Varguennes was a person of considerable
charm, and Captain Talbot wishes me to suggest to you that a sailor's
life is not the best school of morals." Nor did it interest her
that Miss Sarah was a "skilled and dutiful teacher" or that
"My infants have deeply missed her." But Mrs. Talbot's
patent laxity of standard and foolish sentimentality finally helped
Sarah with Mrs. Poulteney; they set her a challenge.
    So Sarah came for an
interview, accompanied by the vicar. She secretly pleased Mrs.
Poulteney from the start, by seeming so cast down, so annihilated by
circumstance. It was true that she looked suspiciously what she
indeed was-- nearer twenty-five than "thirty or perhaps more."
But there was her only too visible sorrow, which showed she was a
sinner, and Mrs. Poulteney wanted nothing to do with anyone who did
not look very clearly to be in that category. And there was her
reserve, which Mrs. Poulteney took upon herself to interpret as a
mute gratitude. Above all, with the memory of so many departed
domestics behind her, the old lady abhorred impertinence and
forwardness, terms synonymous in her experience with speaking before
being spoken to and anticipating her demands, which deprived her of
the pleasure of demanding why they had not been anticipated.
    Then, at the vicar's
suggestion, she dictated a letter. The handwriting was excellent, the
spelling faultless. She set a more cunning test. She passed Sarah her
Bible and made her read. Mrs. Poulteney had devoted some thought to
the choice of passage; and had been sadly torn between Psalm 119
("Blessed are the undefiled") and Psalm 140 ("Deliver
me, O Lord, from the evil man"). She had finally chosen the
former; and listened not only to the reading voice, but also for any
fatal sign that the words of the psalmist were not being taken very
much to the reader's heart.
    Sarah's voice was firm,
rather deep. It retained traces of a rural accent, but in those days
a genteel accent was not the great social requisite it later became.
There were men in the House of Lords, dukes even, who still kept
traces of the accent of their province; and no one thought any the
worse of them. Perhaps it was by contrast with Mrs. Fairley's
uninspired stumbling that the voice first satisfied Mrs. Poulteney.
But it charmed her; and so did the demeanor of the girl as she read
"O that my ways were directed to keep Thy
statutes!"
    There remained a brief
interrogation.
    " Mr.
Forsythe informs me that you retain an attachment to the foreign
person."
    " I
do not wish to speak of it, ma'm."
    Now if any maid had
dared to say such a thing to Mrs. Poulteney, the Dies Irae would have
followed. But this was spoken openly, without fear, yet respectfully;
and for once Mrs. Poulteney let a golden opportunity for bullying
pass.
    " I
will not have French books in my house."
    " I
possess none. Nor English, ma'm."
    She possessed none, I
may add, because they were all sold; not because she was an early
forerunner of the egregious McLuhan.
    " You
have surely a Bible?"
    The girl shook her head.
The vicar intervened. "I will attend to that, my dear Mrs.
Poulteney."
    " I
am told you are constant in your attendance at divine service."
    " Yes,
ma'm."
    " Let
it remain so. God consoles us in all adversity."
    " I
try to share your belief, ma'm."
    Mrs. Poulteney put her
most difficult question, one the vicar had in fact previously
requested her not to ask.
    " What
if this ... person returns; what then?"
    But again Sarah did the
best possible thing: she said nothing, and simply bowed her head and
shook it. In her increasingly favorable mood Mrs. Poulteney allowed
this to be an indication of speechless repentance.
    So she entered upon her
good deed.
    It had not occurred to
her, of course, to ask why Sarah, who had refused offers of work from
less sternly Christian souls than Mrs. Poulteney's, should wish to
enter her house. There were two very simple reasons. One was that
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