"I said, miss, that the people in the village and the servants up at the Cedars were very glad that Mr. Leicester had come down again, for, though he's so very stern and grave-looking, he seems to be very kind, and everybody gives him a good name. And he's so liberal, miss! He gives a sovereign where others look hard at shillings. Only the last time he was down, miss, he went into Will Sanderson's cottage and sat and talked with little Jemmie, Willie Sanderson's brother, you know, miss, little lame Willie; and he sat and asked questions about his not being able to walk, and then he got up with a start, and in his thoughtful way, which almost makes you think you've done something wrong; but there comes down one o' them little inwalid chairs from London, and Willie says his brother is as well again now that he can be wheeled about. Of course, it came from Mr. Leicester, though when Willie went up to thank him, he sent word down that he was to have a glass of wine, and not to wait. And they say—the servants, you know—miss, that Mr. Leicester is so kind to Mrs. Dodson, and speaks to her quite soft, and when she was ill with the rheumatics he carried her up and downstairs; and so no wonder they likes him; though I did hear the cook say that Mr. Leicester was very particular about the made dishes, and that when he is angry it's something fearful, he's so stern, and what you might call overpowering, miss."
"Oh," said Violet, with her sweet little laugh, "throws the dishes at the butler's head, I suppose you think, Marie?"
"Oh, no, miss, but has the cook up, and talks to him so cold and sternlike, like he talked to Bill Summers, who threw down the horse he was so fond of. But, notwithstanding that way of his, he's very kind to all the servants, and any of 'em would do anything for him. They like Mr. Fairfax, too, miss, and he, I heard 'em say, was an artist or an author, or something clever, miss, in London, and he lives with Mr. Leicester, in the same house, and him and Lord Fitz Boisdale are all great friends. And they do say, miss, though, of course, I can't tell whether it's true, that Mr. Leicester is courting Lady Ethel. Did I hurt you, miss?" she broke off, suspending her operations with the hair brush, for Violet had turned round her head rather suddenly.
"No," said Violet, quietly. "What do you say, that Mr. Leicester is in love with Lady Ethel Boisdale?"
"Well, miss, they say so, and it certainly do look like it, if all accounts be true, for Mr. Leicester's man says that his master is at all the balls and soirées and dinners at the Earl of Lackland's, and that he only came down here so suddenlike because Lady Lackland and Lord Fitz and Lady Ethel were coming down to Coombe Lodge."
"That will do," said Violet, "I will go to bed now."
And Marie braided the heavy mass of hair into thick, silken plaits, rattling on meanwhile with a laughable account of Mr. Starling's sayings and doings in the servants' hall, to which he seemed, by Marie's account, quite an acquisition. Violet smiled with her usual enjoyment of the humorous, of which she had a quick perception, and Marie left her still smiling.
But when the talkative little maid had closed the door behind her, light-hearted Violet felt rather lonely.
Her aunt slept in the next suite of rooms, and by touching a small bell, she could summon her, or by opening a door and passing through a little anteroom she could reach her, but Violet was not nervous or timid, and after a little wrestling with the feeling she conquered it.
But she could not altogether dismiss the small incidents of the evening from her mind.