‘Conversation’s quite a gift,’ she said, ‘and it’s always difficult with a new person till you know their tastes. I suppose Mr. Swinford knows about pictures and that sort of thing, and unless you’ve somebody to tell you when you go to the exhibitions it’s so hard to know which are really the good ones. Then books--Mudie never sends us any of the best. He puts all the common novels into the country parcels. At the Hall they will get everything that comes out.’ ‘He said nothing about books or pictures either,’ said Mab--‘Yes, by the bye, he’s going to lend mother some--but they’re French ones----’ ‘French ones!’ said the cousins; and then there was a pause of consternation. ‘Papa once said if he had his will no French novel should ever come into the parish.’ ‘Ah!’ said Mab, ‘but then I suppose Mr. Swinford didn’t write and ask uncle what he should bring.’ Emily remained gazing out of the window with a troubled air. ‘We shall never know what to say if that is the sort of thing; and as for going to their parties, if they are all made up of---- Mamma, too, who never read a French book in her life. We had a little practice in the schoolroom, when we had Fräulein, don’t you remember, Flo---- Who was it we read? It was all long speeches, and one could never make out what they were about.’ ‘And they sounded exactly like German when Fräulein read them. I never could tell which was which. But I know where the books are, and perhaps if you learned one of the speeches and said it to Mr. Swinford, he might like it, don’t you know.’ ‘I was not, of course, thinking of Mr. Swinford, but of Mrs. Swinford,’ said Emily, frowning. ‘And you think you will get a chance of talking to her with mamma and Aunt Emily there?’ ‘Well,’ said Emily, ‘at least I can show her that I know my place, and how an English girl behaves.’ ‘I wish you would not wrangle,’ said Mab; ‘it was rather fun listening to mother and him: they said no speeches out of books--I believe after all what they said was chiefly chaff. Mother is a wonderful hand at chaff. She looks so quiet all the time, and goes on till you are nearly jumping. But he liked it, and laughed, and gave her as good. There was one thing he said,’ added Mab demurely, ‘which wasn’t chaff, and which you might like to hear. He said at once he didn’t want----’ ‘What! I’m sure I don’t care what he wants or doesn’t want--a gardener perhaps? and papa has just heard of one he wanted to recommend.’ ‘A wife!’ cried Mab, her blue eyes quickening a little with mischief. ‘Mother asked if he did, and he said he didn’t. Perhaps she had some one she wanted to recommend.’