‘Arrah! Suppose!’ says Miss Ricketty with considerable eloquence, but without committing herself.
‘Well, if not that,’ says Susan, who is full of her late romantic idea about a secret marriage between the unknown and Wyndham, ‘perhaps—perhaps Mr. Wyndham knows something about her.’
Miss Ricketty turns sharply, and looks at her. But the girl’s lovely, open, tranquil face betrays nothing but a soft enthusiasm. A sense of amusement fills Miss Ricketty’s breast.
‘Fegs, I’m thinkin’ ye’re on the right thrack,’ says she evenly.
‘You won’t say it again, Miss Ricketty, will you?’ says Susan; ‘but I have thought—at least, it has occurred to me—that perhaps she’s Mr. Wyndham’s wife.’
This is a little too much for Miss Ricketty. She gives way suddenly to a fit of coughing, and, turning her back to Susan, dives under the counter, whether to recover from a very proper confusion, or to indulge in very improper laughter, can now, alas! never be known. When she emerges, however, her face is a fine crimson.
‘That would be very romantic, wouldn’t it?’ says Susan, looking at her and speaking softly, yet with a pretty delight. ‘A marriage like that, with nobody knowing anything except they two, you know; and I feel sure she is lovely, and Mr. Wyndham is very nice-looking too, and after awhile perhaps we shall know her. He will introduce us to her, and we shall be friends, and——’
‘’Tis a beautiful story,’ says Miss Ricketty, breaking in with unction. ‘An’ beautiful stories, we all know, come thrue. I wish ye joy o’ the bride at the Cottage, Miss Susan; but I wouldn’t be for intherferin’ wid the young married people too soon if I were you, me dear.’
‘Of course, I shouldn’t do that,’ says Susan hastily, her fair face growing earnest. ‘But I thought that if——’
‘Well, ye’d betther wait, I think,’ says Miss Ricketty. ‘’Tis bad bein’ in a hurry, as Misther Haldane found out last night.’