She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. She did not know herself. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. "Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me.
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