Cricklander had a peculiarly unclassical brain, and found learning
statistics about ancient philosophies and the names of mythological
personages the most difficult of all. Fortunately in these days, even
among the most polished, this special branch of cultivation was rather
old-fashioned, Miss Clinker reflected, but still, as Mr. Derringham
seemed determined to wander along this line (Arabella had unconsciously
appropriated some apt Americanisms during her three years of bondage),
she must be loyal and not allow her employer to commit any blunders. So
she got her facts crystallized, or "tabloided," as Mrs. Cricklander
would mentally have characterized the process, and then she began her
letter to her parent. Mrs. Clinker, an Irishwoman and the widow of a
learned Dean, understood a number of things, and was clear-headed and
humorous, for all her seventy years, and these passages in her
daughter's letter amused her.

We are entertaining a number of distinguished visitors, and among
them Mr. John Derringham, the Under Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs. He is a most interesting personality, as perfectly sure of
what he wants in life as is M. E. (M. E. stood for "My
Employer"--names were invidious). They would be a perfect match, each
as selfish as the other, I should say. He is really very cultivated,
and believes her to be so, too. She has not made a single mistake as
yet, but frightened me at luncheon a little. I must try and get her
to keep him off classical subjects. She intends to marry him--and
then she will not require me, I suppose; or rather, I do not think he
would permit her to keep me. If it came to a measure of wills, he
would win, I think--at first, at least--but she could wear away a
stone in the end, as you know. The arranging of this place is still
amusing her, so she may decide to spend a good deal of time here. She
closed her mouth with that firm snap this morning that I have