After tea had been served, Mrs. Baines gradually recovered her position, both in her own private esteem and in the deference of Miss Aline Chetwynd.

“Yes,” said she.  “You can talk about your sister, and you can call him Archibald, and you can mince up your words.  But have you got a tea-service like this?  Can you conceive more perfect strawberry jam than this?  Did not my dress cost more than you spend on your clothes in a year?  Has a man ever looked at you?  After all, is there not something about my situation ... in short, something ...?”

She did not say this aloud.  She in no way deviated from the scrupulous politeness of a hostess.  There was nothing in even her tone to indicate that Mrs. John Baines was a personage.  Yet it suddenly occurred to Miss Chetwynd that her pride in being the prospective sister-in-law of the Rev. Archibald Jones would be better for a while in her pocket.  And she inquired after Mr. Baines.  After this the conversation limped somewhat.

“I suppose you weren’t surprised by my letter?” said Mrs. Baines.

“I was and I wasn’t,” answered Miss Chetwynd, in her professional manner and not her manner of a prospective sister-in-law.  “Of course I am naturally sorry to lose two such good pupils, but we can’t keep our pupils for ever.”  She smiled; she was not without fortitude—­it is easier to lose pupils than to replace them.  “Still”—­a pause—­“what you say of Sophia is perfectly true, perfectly.  She is quite as advanced as Constance.  Still”—­another pause and a more rapid enunciation—­“Sophia is by no means an ordinary girl.”

“I hope she hasn’t been a very great trouble to you?”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Miss Chetwynd.  “Sophia and I have got on very well together.  I have always tried to appeal to her reason.  I have never forced her ...  Now, with some girls ...  In some ways I look on Sophia as the most remarkable girl—­not pupil—­but the most remarkable—­what shall I say?—­individuality, that I have ever met with.”  And her demeanour added, “And, mind you, this is something —­from me!”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Baines.  She told herself, “I am not your common foolish parent.  I see my children impartially.  I am incapable of being flattered concerning them.”

Nevertheless she was flattered, and the thought shaped itself that really Sophia was no ordinary girl.

“I suppose she has talked to you about becoming a teacher?” asked Miss Chetwynd, taking a morsel of the unparalleled jam.

She held the spoon with her thumb and three fingers.  Her fourth finger, in matters of honest labour, would never associate with the other three; delicately curved, it always drew proudly away from them.

“Has she mentioned that to you?” Mrs. Baines demanded, startled.

“Oh yes!” said Miss Chetwynd.  “Several times.  Sophia is a very secretive girl, very—­but I think I may say I have always had her confidence.  There have been times when Sophia and I have been very near each other.  Elizabeth was much struck with her.  Indeed, I may tell you that in one of her last letters to me she spoke of Sophia and said she had mentioned her to Mr. Jones, and Mr. Jones remembered her quite well.”