“Oh, how ghastly! The poor lunatic talking away to you, and taking you for our father! Imagine him recognising you by the likeness, and skipping thirty-three years! No one else suspects you, do they?”
“His wife knows my real name, and that’s all; I had to tell her, but she is safe as a church. Miss Susan has been curious.”
“Bless her dear simple heart!”
“I say amen to that; but of all the mean, purse-proud, tyrannical old hags, give me Bella Parrett! She’s always bragging of her family, too, and her crest—in my opinion it ought to be a civet cat!”
“Oh, Owen,” and she laughed, “it’s not often that you are stirred to such indignation.”
“Ah, you don’t know her.”
“Apparently not. Well, what do you say to a move, and to better yourself? I believe I could find you a capital place in Somersetshire, not so retired, more in the world, and with quite smart people.”
“No, thanks, I’ll stick to this now—anyway till Christmas.”
“But, Owen, when the old woman and the motor are so objectionable—by the way, I must inspect it before you start to-morrow—why remain?”
“Oh, I’ve got the hang of the place now. I know the people, I’ve comfortable quarters—and—er—I like Miss Susan——”