"Well, they're gone," she said. "And thank goodness for it. I should have let the Lodge and gone away myself if they had stayed here any longer. Cumberers of the ground, I call them, and what they wanted with a country house beats me. But you never know who you're going to get for neighbours nowadays. By the by, have you heard that old Parson Marsh has let Blaythorn Rectory for the hunting season?"
Blaythorn was about three miles from Mountfield, on the opposite side to Kencote. Cicely had not heard this piece of news.
"Yes," said Mrs. Graham, "and to a lady of title, my dear—Lady George Dubec—no less. I haven't the ghost of an idea who she is. But no doubt your father will know. He is a regular walking peerage—knows who everybody is and whom everybody has married to the third and fourth generation. What accommodation poor old Parson Marsh has for hunters I don't know. I should think the lady must have been done in the eye. And as for the house—the last time I was in it it smelt so of dogs and tobacco-smoke that even I couldn't put up with it, and Lord knows I'm not particular."
"Where is Mr. Marsh going to live?" asked Cicely.
"Oh, I believe he has sacked his curate on the strength of it, and has taken his rooms. I don't know why he should have wanted a curate at all, except that he's so bone-idle, and I'm sure he can't afford one. He owes Joynes the butcher over forty pounds. But, good gracious, Cicely, don't encourage me to gossip. I'm getting a regular old hag. It's the influence of your late tenants, my dear. They loved village tittle-tattle, and I had to join in with it whenever we met, because there was nothing else in the wide world I could talk to them about. The worst of it is I was acquiring quite a taste for scandal. But I've turned over a new leaf. So has old Marsh I suppose, and is going to pay up all his debts. I wish him well over his difficulties."
With such sprightly talk did Mrs. Graham pass away the time till they reached Kencote, when she began all over again with Mrs. Clinton as audience. Cicely had gone upstairs to see the twins and Miss Bird, and Mrs. Graham asked point-blank that Mr. Clinton might be informed of her arrival. "I have lots to tell him," she said, "and I want to ask him some questions besides."
Mrs. Clinton rang the bell, without saying anything, and a footman was sent with a message to the Squire, who presently came in, bluff and hearty, but walking with a slight list.
"Ah, Mrs. Graham!" he said as he shook hands. "Come to cheer us up with a little gossip—what? But where are the grandchildren?"
"Dear me! I forgot to ask," said Mrs. Graham. "I suppose it is too cold for them. But I've brought the dogs, Mr. Clinton."
"Oh, the dogs!" said the Squire, with his loud laugh. "No dogs in this house."