"I assure you, she has quite taken hold of me. Quite fascinated me. Such a charming face—hers! I adore hazel eyes, and hers are true hazel—positive orbs of light." The Rector uttered a silent "Bosh!" to this. "Now that I am unpacked and arranged, I hope to see a great deal of that dear child. Tell her so, please, with my love. We are such near neighbours—" "Much too near!" silently commented the Rector— "that I hope she will be always in and out. Tell Doris—may I call her so?—that it will be a real charity, if she will come as often as possible to my little cot."
Why couldn't she say "cottage" like a sensible being? Mr. Winton hated being humbugged, and he abhorred gush. Praise of his Doris was sweet; but he could not quite swallow all this.
Mrs. Brutt studied through draped curtains his swinging stride down the little pathway.
"Of all uncouth beings! The contrast!" murmured she, setting alongside a mental picture of the Squire.
"And his wife. Not so uncouth, certainly, but really more unendurable. The girl's life, under such a regime, must be no joke. I wonder how she stands it, for my part."
Mrs. Brutt strolled round the room, which was crowded with furniture, with pictures, and with bric-a-brac ornaments, many of them old and valuable. She altered the position of one or two, thinking still about Doris Winton.
"A pretty girl," she murmured,—"and with pretty ways. She might make a sensation, away from this poky place. I wonder whether, some day, I could bring her forward. Not an impossible plan. What if I were to offer to take her abroad? I doubt if the Rector would approve. He likes me as little as I like him. But if I can get hold of the girl somehow—" She clapped her hands and laughed aloud. "I have it! I'll suggest the idea to the Squire. That will do. He simply rules the neighbourhood."
A ring at the front door took her by surprise. She glided to the window, just in time for a glimpse. Actually!—it was the Squire himself. Again—already! The impression she had made on him must have been agreeable. This flashed through her mind as she fled to the mantelpiece and anxiously surveyed herself. Although past forty, she knew that no grey lines had begun to appear in her well-dressed dark hair; and while she was a plain woman, so far as features were concerned, she also knew that her figure was good, and that she could carry herself with the air of being a somebody.
"Mr. Stirling" was announced. He found the lady engrossed in a book, which she put aside with a dreamy air, before beaming into a surprised welcome.
"This is a pleasure indeed. A most unexpected pleasure. How kind—how very kind! Pray sit down."