“Sir, I thank you very much for the hospitality you have so kindly proffered me, and which, for my mother’s sake, I am very happy to accept.”
“Don’t mention it, Mr. Longman. Have a seat. This is my daughter, Mrs. Montgomery,” said the curate, rising and handing a chair.
Longman bowed profoundly to the young lady, and then dropped into his seat.
Elspeth was speaking to Mrs. Campbell:
“Which room did you say, ma’am, he might have?”
“Any vacant one you please. The little room next to your own you might prefer, perhaps,” returned Hetty.
“Yes, ma’am, I would, thanky, ma’am,” said Elspeth, and she left the parlor.
“When did you reach England, Mr. Longman?” inquired Hetty, to make conversation and set the embarrassed colossus at his ease.
“Only about twenty-four hours since, ma’am. And I had the honor of traveling in company with the new Squire of Haymore and his bride, expected by the people in this neighborhood,” replied Longman, looking down on his own folded hands, so that he failed to see the effect of his words; for Mr. Campbell started, Hetty gasped, and Jennie turned pale.
And the conversation that followed was all at cross-purposes, for Longman came to speak of Randolph Hay, the only true Squire of Haymore, and his wife, Judith, and of their crossing the Atlantic Ocean together; while the curate and his family spoke of Kightly Montgomery, the fraudulent claimant, and his deceived bride, Lamia Leegh, and of their crossing the English Channel.