"What is your position there?"
"I'm housekeeper," said Harriet. "That is to say, I manage everything."
The elder sister looked at her with incredulity, in which a little awe was mingled. "Housekeeper—to the Duke of Bridport—and you not yet thirty, Hattie. Gracious, goodness, what next!"
The visitor smiled at this simplicity. "It's hardly so grand as it sounds. The house doesn't need much in the way of servants; the Family never go there. His Grace comes down now and again for a week-end when he wants to be alone. Just himself—there's never anyone else."
"But housekeeper!" Eliza was still incredulous. "At twenty-nine! I call it wonderful."
"Is it so remarkable?" Harriet's calmness seemed a little uncanny.
"The dad would have thought so, had he lived to see it. He always thought the world of the Family."
The younger sister smiled at this artlessness.
"Every reason to do so, no doubt," she said with a brightening eye and a rush of warmth to her voice. "I am sure there couldn't be better people in this world than the Dinnefords."
"That was the father's opinion, anyway. He always said they knew how to treat those who served them."
"Not a doubt of that," said Harriet. "They have been more than good to me." The color flowed over her face. "And his Grace often speaks of the father. He says he was his right hand at Ardnaleuchan, and that he saved him many a pound in a twelvemonth."
"I expect he did," said Eliza, her own eyes kindling.
