"Like enough, Master Cyrus. And I daresay her pa gave her the silver frame when he was feeling generous-like, as he do on occasions. Queer," said Mrs. Gilfin rubbing her nose, "one brother a miser, and the other taking after his father is a spendthrift. Luckily the five hundred a year's so tied up that he can't get at the principal, and it comes to Miss Gertrude when her pa joins Mr. Miser Monk in the graveyard. So she's all right, the dear sweet young lady she is."
"Have you ever seen the photograph, Cuckoo?"
"Oh yes, Master Cyrus. Mr. Joseph Striver's got one. Begged it off her, and she being an angel gave it to him, though he's only the gardener."
"Does she love him?" I asked tremulously.
"No, she don't," said Mrs. Gilfin shortly.
"Does he love her?" I persisted.
"He do: the impertinence! him only being a gardener, though handsome, I will say. Mr. Walter Monk don't pay him much for gardening at The Lodge, yet he stays on there because he loves Miss Gertrude, as if she'd look on such dirt as Anne Caldershaw's nephew. His father left him with fifty pounds a year so that's why he can afford to stop on, and now I hear he's come in for money from his aunt. But if he dares to raise his eyes to Miss Gertrude, Master Cyrus, you break his neck," advised Mrs. Gilfin.
"But if she loves him----"
"How can she, when he ain't a gentleman born," snapped Mrs. Gilfin, "she don't love anybody but a dog she have, and lives in that shabby old house like a nun in a convent, or a toad in a stone. Where the young men's eyes are I don't know," ended Mrs. Gilfin, virtuously indignant.
My spirits rose as she spoke. "I'm glad she's fancy free," I said, rejoicingly, "there's a chance for me then?"