“My mother goes round telling of folk here and there, and she’s left out the one that matters most, that starts everything in the village, and is the prettiest girl—bar one—in ten parishes—and that’s Miss Aurea!”
“Why, Miss Aurea, of course, she’s not to be overlooked,” said Mrs. Hogben, “not nowhere—Miss Parrett’s niece, and the parson’s daughter; but she’s not here now, she’s a-stoppin’ up in London with her father’s brother the General—often she does be there—the only child to go round in three families.”
Wynyard said to himself that he was actually better posted up in village gossip than Mrs. Hogben; she did not know, as he did, that Miss Aurea had returned home!
“She manages her aunt wonderful, that she do; indeed, she manages most things.”
“She’s awful taken up with settling the Manor House and the garden,” added Tom; “she has a lucky hand, and a real love for flowers.”
“Ay, and folk do say that Woolcock of Westmere, the only son, has a real love for her,” supplemented Mrs. Hogben, as she rose and pushed back her chair; “it would be a sensible thing to wed old family to good money.”
The newcomer rose also, picked up his cap, and walked to the open door. He had heard the latest news of Ottinge-in-the-Marsh, and now he intended to have a look round the village itself.
“I believe I’ll take a bit of a stroll and smoke a pipe,” he said, as he put on his cap and went out.
“What do you think of the new lodger, Tom?” asked his mother, as she noisily collected plates and cups.
“I think—it’s hard to say yet; but I likes him. He’s not our sort, though.”