"Well, Father, I told you I did not understand it!" remonstrated Isabella, in an injured tone.
"Madam, my Lady Ingram!" announced Robert, in a voice of great importance.
The Squire turned round directly, and offered his hand to conduct the visitor to a seat, like a well-bred gentleman of his day,—Madam Passmore rising to receive her, and her daughters of course following her example.
The stranger was a tall, commanding woman, with great stateliness of carriage, and much languor of manner. She had evidently been very handsome, but was now just past her prime. Her eyes and hair were dark, her voice low and languishing. Altogether it struck Celia that she was very like what Isabella would be in a few years, allowing for the differences in color. She took the chair to which the Squire led her, and addressed herself to Madam Passmore. There was a little peculiarity of distinctness in her pronunciation.
"You wonder to see me, Madam," she began.
"Madam, I am honored by your Ladyship's visit."
"I am the widow of Sir Edward Ingram, who held a commission under His Majesty King James. I come to speak with you on business."
"With me?" asked Madam Passmore, a little surprised.
"You are Madam Passmore, of Ashcliffe Hall?—Yes."
"Pray continue, Madam."