III

speak her French in the worst kind of English way did not really matter. But why was it? What did it mean? They all had something in common⁠—all the people who spoke French like that⁠ ⁠… a slender young man darted noiselessly into the room and began busily dusting the sideboard. He was wearing a striped cotton jacket. Mrs. Bailey had engaged a manservant.⁠ ⁠… It was impossible. He would not be able to be kept. It was like a play. He was like a character in a farce, rushing on and whisking things about. It was a play; amateur theatricals, Mrs. Bailey rushing radiantly about, stage-managing. It was pretending things were different when they were not; breaking up the atmosphere of the house. Where did she get her ideas?⁠ ⁠… Coming back to her surveillance she listened intently. Wait a minute, she said, we will begin all over again. I see exactly what it is. There’s no difficulty. You can learn all about pronunciation in a few minutes. Sissie had started. Controlling herself she took her attention from the book long enough to give Miriam a sympathetic glancing smile. Let the words ring in your head, into your nose and against your forehead. Sissie sat back smiling, and sat watching Miriam’s face. It’s we who speak through the nose. And mouth. In gusts, whoof, whoof, from the chest all sound and no enunciation. Sissie’s eyes were roving intently about Miriam’s face. They stop the breath at the lips and in the nose. Bong. That’s through the nose. Bon! D’you hear; like a little explosion. Hold the lips tight before the b and explode the word up into the nose partly closing the back of the throat and mouth. It’s all like that and the pronunciation does not vary. When you know the few rules and get the vowels pure and explode the consonants, that’s all there is. Sissie waited, controlling an apologetic smile. She had realised nothing but the violent outburst and was secretly laughing over the idea of explosions.⁠ ⁠… Say matin, suggested Miriam patiently. Mattong, murmured Sissie. Say mattah, persisted Miriam. The youth came flourishing in with the coal box. That’s right. Now try forcing the ah up into your nose and shutting your nose on it. It’s time to lay the table Emyou, stated Sissie reprovingly towards the hearthrug. Pliz?⁠—The