"She is indeed, and to Mr. Creswell--Squire Creswell of Woolgreaves---"
"What!" screamed Mrs. Covey, falling backward into the chair, which was fortunately close behind her. "You don't tell me that!"
"I do indeed! When was it?--last Thursday. The--the happy couple" (and Mr. Benthall gave a cynical grin as he said the words)--"the happy couple are away now on their wedding-trip."
"Well, I niver did! I niver did! The old squire to come and marry Miss Marian! He that was allays so mumchance and so meek, and had a sweet tooth in 's head after all I thowt it was to talk wi' the poor old master about book-larnin' and such stuff that he comed here! I'd niver an idee that he'd an eye for the young gell."
"Only shows how sly these old gentlemen can be when they choose, Mrs. Covey," said Mr. Benthall, much amused, "if they can deceive such sharp eyes as yours."
"Dear heart, I've no cause to call mine sharp eyes any longer, I think," said the old woman, shaking her head, "for I was took in by both on 'em. I niver thowt Miss Marian would throw t'other one over, that I niver did."
"What's that you're saying, Mrs. Covey?" asked Mr. Benthall, sharply.
"I was sayin' that I allays thowt Miss Marian would howld by the t'other one, and----"
"Other one? What other one? I never heard of there being any 'other one,' as you call it, in regard to Miss Ashurst."
"No! You didn't, I dare say! Nor didn't not no one else!" said the old lady, with a frightful redundancy of negatives; "but I did."