"Where should I lunch, my dear lady?" I thought this would induce the
sugary smile to show itself. I was wrong.

"Where?" Mrs. Roylake repeated. "With your friends at the mill of course.
Very inhospitable not to offer you lunch. When are we to have flour
cheaper?"

I began to get sulky. All I said was: "I don't know."

"Curious!" Mrs. Roylake observed. "You not only don't get luncheon among
your friends: you don't even get information. To know a miller, and not
to know the price of flour, is ignorance presented in one of its most
pitiable aspects. And how is Miss Toller looking? Perfectly charming?"

I was angry by this time. "You have exactly described her," I said. Mrs.
Roylake began to get angry, on her side.

"Surely a little coarse and vulgar?" she suggested, reverting to poor
Cristel.

"Would you like to judge for yourself?" I asked. "I shall be happy, Mrs.
Roylake, to take you to the mill."

My stepmother's knowledge of the world implied considerable
acquaintance--how obtained I do not pretend to know--with the characters
of men. Discovering that she was in danger of overstepping the limits of
my patience, she drew back with a skill which performed the retrograde
movement without permitting it to betray itself.