"Miss Deborah's complexion is wonderful."

"Yes. But oh, Deb isn't to be compared with Mary in anything except
looks. She is eaten up with vanity--one can't be surprised--and is
very dictatorial and overbearing; you could see that at lunch.
But Mary is so gentle, so unselfish--her father's right hand, and
everybody's stand-by."

"I don't think Miss Deborah seemed--"

"Because you don't know her. I do. She simply loathes children, while
Mary would mother all the orphan asylums in the world, if she could. I
always tell her that her mission in life is to run a creche--or should
be. Lawks! How she will envy me when I get that boy of yours to look
after!"

Guthrie's feet seemed to take tight hold of the ground. "Really, Miss
Urquhart--er--I can't thank you for your goodness in--in asking him
up here--but I've been thinking--I've made up my mind that the best
thing I can do is to take him home to my own people." The idea was an
inspiration of the desperate moment. How to put it into practice he
knew not, and she tried to show him that it was impracticable; but he
stuck to it as to a life-buoy. He would write to his sister--all the
'people' he owned apparently--and find somebody who was going home;
and "Isn't it time to be putting our things together? Miss Pennycuick
told us we were to be there for tea at four o'clock, if possible."