The Laird of Norlaw; A Scottish Story by Mrs. Oliphant

Author:Mrs. Oliphant [Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anboco
Published: 2017-01-24T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XLI.

“A French governess!—she is not French, though she might be born in France. Anybody might be born in France,” said Patricia, with some scorn; “but her mother was Scotch—no, not English, Joanna, I know better—just some Scotchwoman from the country; I should not wonder if she was a little impostor, after all.”

“You had better take care,” cried Joanna, “I’m easier affronted than Desirée; you had better not say much more to me.”

“It is true though,” said Patricia, with triumph; “she took quite a fancy to Kirkbride, when she came first, and was sure she had heard of the Kelpie waterfall. I expect it will turn out some poor family from this quarter that have gone to France and changed their name. Joanna may be as foolish about her as she likes, but I know she never was a true Frenchwoman by her look. I have seen French people many a time in England.”

“Yet you always look as if you would like to eat Desirée when she speaks to you in French,” said Joanna, with a spice of malice; “if you knew French people, you should like the language.”

“Low people don’t pronounce as ladies do,” said Patricia. “Perhaps she was not even born in France, for all she says—and I am quite sure her mother was some country girl from near Kirkbride.”

“What is that you say?” said Melmar, who was present, and whose attention had at last been caught by the discussion.

“I say Joanna’s French governess is not French, papa. Her mother was a Scotchwoman and came from this country,” cried Patricia, eagerly. “I think she belongs to some poor family who have gone abroad and changed their name—perhaps her father was a poacher, or something, and had to run away.”

“And that is all because Desirée thinks she must have heard her mamma speak of the Kelpie waterfall,” said Joanna; “because she thought she knew it as soon as she saw it—that is all!—did you ever hear the like, papa?”

Melmar’s face grew redder, as was its wont when he was at all disturbed. He laid down his paper.

“She thought she knew the Kelpie, did she?—hum! and her mother is a Scotchwoman—for that matter, so is yours. What is to be made of that, eh, Patricia?”

“I never denied where I belonged to,” said Patricia, reddening with querulous anger; “and I did not speak to you, papa, so you need not take the trouble to answer. But her mother was Scotch—and I do not believe she is a proper Frenchwoman at all. I never did think so; and as for a governess, Joanna could learn as much from mamma’s maid.”

Joanna burst out immediately into a loud defense, and denunciation of her sister. Melmar took no notice what, ever of their quarrel, but he still grew redder in the face, twisted about his newspaper, got up and walked to the window, and displayed a general uneasiness. He was perfectly indifferent as to the tone and bearing of his daughters, but he was not indifferent to what they said in this quarrel, which was all about Desirée.

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