“You’ll never live here, Master Dolly? You’d not stand this lonesome place a week!”
“I don’t think I should, Tom. I might come down for the shooting, and bring some fellows with me, or I might run down for a few weeks ‘on the sly.’ By the way, have you found out who she is?”
“No, Sir; they’re as close as wax. Mrs. Simcox, I see, knows all about it, but she won’t say a word beyond the ‘young lady as is my master’s ward.’”
“Is she French or English?”
“Can’t say, Sir; but I suspect she’s French.”
“Is she his daughter?”
“At times I do think she is; but she ain’t like him, Sir, not a bit!”
“But why can’t you find out where she came from when she came here, who and what her friends, if she has any?”
“It’s clear impossible, Sir. They has all got orders to know nothing, and it’s nothing they know.”
“Did you try them with a ‘tip,’ Tom?”