Walking one day slowly with Hortense down one of the garden paths, Sarah saw Mary Kitson engaged in talking to two dolls, seated on a bench with them, patting their clothes, very happy, her nurse busy over a novelette.
Sarah stopped.
"I'll sit here," she said, walked across to the bench and sat down.

Mary looked up from her dolls, and then, nervously and self-consciously, went back to her play.

Sarah stared straight before her.
Hortense amiably endeavoured to draw the nurse into conversation.
"You 'ave 'ere ze fine gardens," she said.

"It calls to mind my own Paris.

Ah, the gardens in Paris!" But the nurse had been taught to distrust all foreigners, and her views of Paris were coloured by her reading.