She expected to hear some commendation as they walked home, but Vera alone kept with her, to examine her on the names and standing of the persons she had seen, on which there was as yet little to tell, for the first move towards acquaintance had not yet been made. All that was known was that there were Sir Jasper and Lady Merrifield, connections of Lord Rotherwood, who owned most of the Rockstone property, and who with his family had once been staying in the country house where Magdalen had been governess; but it was a long time ago, and she only recollected that there were some nice little girls. At least she said no more, but her friend thought the more. “I suppose they will call?” said Vera. “Most likely they will.” “Has nobody called?” “Mr. Earl, the Vicar of Arnscombe. He has promised to tell me how we can be of use here. I believe there is great want of a lady at the Sunday school.” This did not interest Vera—and she went on asking questions about the neighbourhood, and whether any of the Rockstone people had left cards, and whether there were any parties, garden or evening, at Rockstone—more than Magdalen could yet answer, though she was glad to promote any sort of conversation with either of the girls who did not stand aloof from her. “I say, the M.A. (maiden aunt) knows nobody but that old clergyman, who wants her to teach his Sunday school.” “I’m out of that, thank goodness,” said Agatha. “And Sunday schools are a delusion, only hindering the children from going to church with their parents,” said Paulina. “And if nobody calls, and they all think her no better than an old governess, how awfully slow it will be,” continued Vera. “I do not suppose that will last,” said Agatha. “There is Rockstone, remember.” “Ten miles off,” said Vera disconsolately. “Oh, Nag, Nag, isn’t it horrid! We shall be just smart enough to be taken for swells, and know nobody; and the swells won’t have us because she is a governess. We might as well be upon a desert island at once.” Agatha could not help laughing and repeating— “I am out of humanity’s reach, I must finish my journey alone— Never hear the sweet music of speech, I start at the sound of my own.” “But really, Nag,” broke in Paulina, “it is horrid. Here we are equidistant from three or four churches, and condemned to the most behind the world of them all, and then to the one where there is this distant fragrance of swells, instead of the only Catholic one.” Agatha had a little more common sense than the other two, and she responded— “After all, you know, you are better off than if you were still at school; and the M.A. is a good old soul at the bottom, and you may manage her, depend on it. Though I wish she had let me go to Girton.”