"No. I am childless—we have always been childless."
Barbara sunk back into the chair again.
"I spoke," continued Lady Phipps, smiling, "of Elizabeth Parris, the daughter of a very dear friend. She was in the hall as you entered. A charming bit of mischief, who has turned the head of our young secretary. We shall have some ado to persuade Samuel Parris into a consent to the engagement. But he must give way at last—dear old soul: he is sure to yield when Sir William takes a thing earnestly in hand. I remember, he made all sorts of objections to officiating when we were married."
"Then this old man—this Samuel Parris performed that ceremony?"
"Yes. Sir William would have no other minister. They were old friends. Indeed, Mr. Parris was a sort of benefactor to my husband when he was a poor boy."
"And they have no secrets from each other—these two men?"
Lady Phipps exhibited a little astonishment at this abrupt question, but after a moment she answered, with a smile:
"Nay, that I cannot tell. My husband loves the old man. Indeed, with the exception perhaps of Norman Lovel, I know hardly any one to whom he is so much attached; but as for secrets, I fancy Sir William shares them with no one."
"Then he is greatly attached to this youth?"
"Indeed he is, or nothing would have induced him to interfere about this engagement. Elizabeth is like our own daughter, and as for Lovel—but you have seen him."