“A stranger, who, rather than suffer you to incur the privation of a breakfast without fruit, rowed across the lake this morning to bring it.”
“Won’t he go, Milly? What is he bargaining about?” cried Miss Grainger, coming up.
But the young girl ran hastily towards her, and for some minutes they spoke in a low tone together.
“I think it an impertinence—yes, an impertinence, Milly—and I mean to tell him so!” said the old lady, fuming with passion. “Such things are not done in the world. They are unpardonable liberties. What is your name, Sir?”
“Calvert, Madam.”
“Calvert? Calvert? Not Calvert of Rocksley?” said she, with a sneer.
“No, Ma’am, only his nephew.”
“Are you his nephew, really nis nephew?” said she, with a half incredulity.
“Yes, Madam, I have that very unprofitable honour, if you axe acquainted with the family, you will recognise their crest;” and he detached a seal from his watch-chain and handed it to her.
“Quite true, the portcullis and the old motto, ‘Ferme en Tombant’ I know, or rather I knew your relatives once, Mr. Calvert;” this was said with a total change of manner, and a sort of simpering politeness that sat very ill upon her.