“Oh, no. Why should I?”
“Strangers generally do; it is quite one of the sights.”
“Do you mind if I begin dressing, Mr. Brock? What sort of sights?”
“Oh, cabbages, and pigs, and country things like that.”
Barth’s brows knotted, partly over his dressing, partly over his effort to grasp the situation.
“And is Miss Howard going down to—to look at those things?” he inquired.
“No, man; of course not. She is going down with the Lady to buy them.”
“To—buy—a pig?” Barth spoke in three detached sentences.
Brock smothered his merriment according to the best of his ability.
“The Lady will do the buying. Miss Howard goes to look on.”