Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. "Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked Mrs. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. .
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