They tried to keep their host in the conversation, but without much success, though he listened as it drifted into immediate interests and affairs of the neighbourhood, and made response, as best he could, to the explanations which, like well-bred people,
they from time to time directed to him. He thus learnt that Lady Adela with her little Amice had been carried off ‘by main force,’ Bertha said, ‘by her brother. But she will come back again,’ she added. ‘She is devoted to the place and her graves—and the poor people.’
‘I do not know what they would do without her,’ said Mr. Hailes.
‘No. She is lady-of-all-work and Pro-parsoness—with all her might’; then seeing, or thinking she saw, a puzzled look, she added, ‘I don’t know if you discovered, Northmoor, that our Vicar, Mr. Woodman, has no wife, and Adela has supplied the lack to the parish, having a soul for country poor, whereas they are too tame for me. I care about my neighbours, of course, after a sort, but the jolly city sparrows of the slums for me! I long to be away.’
What to say to this Lord Northmoor knew as little as did his nephew, and with some difficulty he managed to utter, ‘Are not they very uncivilised?’
‘That’s the beauty of it,’ said Bertha; ‘I’ve spotted my own special preserve of match-girls, newsboys, etc., and Mr. Hailes is going to help me to get a scrumptious little house, whence I can get to it by underground rail. Oh, you may shake your head, Mr. Hailes, but if you will not help me, I shall set my unassisted genius to work, and you’ll only suffer agonies in thinking of the muddle I may be making.’
‘What does Lady Adela say?’ asked Mr. Hailes.
‘She thinks me old enough to take care of myself,
whatever you do, Mr. Hailes; besides, she knows I can come up to breathe! I long for it!’
The dinner ended by Bertha rising, and proposing to Herbert to come with her. It was not too dark, she said, to look out into the Park and see the rabbits scudding about.