CHAPTER X.
_LADY KNOLLYS REMOVES A COVERLET_ Lady Knollys pursued her enquiries.
'And why does not Madame make your dresses, my dear?
I wager a guinea the woman's a milliner.

Did not she engage to make your dresses ?' 'I--I really don't know; I rather think not.

She is my governess--a finishing governess, Mrs.Rusk says.' 'Finishing fiddle! Hoity-toity! and my lady's too grand to cut out your dresses and help to sew them?
And what _does_ she do?
I venture to say she's fit to teach nothing but devilment--not that she has taught _you_ much, my dear--_yet_ at least.

I'll see her, my dear; where is she?
Come, let us visit Madame.

I should so like to talk to her a little.' 'But she is ill,' I answered, and all this time I was ready to cry for vexation, thinking of my dress, which must be very absurd to elicit so much unaffected laughter from my experienced relative, and I was only longing to get away and hide myself before that handsome Captain returned.
'Ill! is she?
what's the matter ?' 'A cold--feverish and rheumatic, she says.' 'Oh, a cold; is she up, or in bed ?' 'In her room, but not in bed.' 'I should so like to see her, my dear.