“Yes,” I said. “Perhaps you don’t remember the name?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I—I remember perfectly.”
“She left you just over a year ago, I understand?”
“Yes. Yes, she did. That is quite right.”
“And you were satisfied with her whilst she was with you? How long was she with you, by the way?”
“Oh! a year or two—I can’t remember exactly how long. She—she is very capable. I’m sure you will find her quite satisfactory. I didn’t know she was leaving Fernly. I hadn’t the least idea of it.”
“Can you tell me anything about her?” I asked.
“Anything about her?”
“Yes, where she comes from, who her people are—that sort of thing?”
Mrs. Folliott’s face wore more than ever its frozen look. “I don’t know at all.”
“Who was she with before she came to you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember.”
There was a spark of anger now underlying her nervousness. She flung up her head in a gesture that was vaguely familiar.
“Is it really necessary to ask all these questions?”
“Not at all,” I said, with an air of surprise and a tinge of apology in my manner. “I had no idea you would mind answering them. I am very sorry.”
Her anger left her and she became confused again.