“And Lilias, too,” said Trafford. “You must tell me your secret of winning all hearts, Esmeralda.”
She laughed.
“It must be their fault,” she said, naïvely.
They walked through the park to the cliffs, and Esmeralda stood and gazed at the sea in a silence which Trafford did not break; he watched her face, and thought its awed and rapt expression more beautiful than the view which had called it forth.
On their way home they passed through the village, and Trafford stopped at one or two of the cottages, and exchanged greetings with some of the people. Esmeralda was struck by the mixture of affection and respect with which the marquis was treated, and the shy curiosity with which they received her. One woman offered her a glass of new milk, and dusted a chair for her to sit on; and one and all were anxious to make much of her and impress her favorably.
“Are all the villages and people in England like this?” she asked, as they went on their way again.
“Yes, I think so, or nearly all,” said Trafford.
“You all seem as if you were one family, or as if it were a little kingdom all to itself, and you were a king.”
“We are all one family, in a sense,” he explained. “You see, we have known each other for generations. Some of the families have been living here almost as long as we have, and few strangers come here; if they do, they settle down and become like the rest after a little time.”