And she gave him a series of nods and shakes of the head, all of which were meant to carry weighty meaning.
“Well, this isn’t the best place in the world for people who are fond of ‘company,’ is it?” said Clifford. “I dare say you feel lonely yourself sometimes, don’t you?”
“Well, I get some I don’t expect sometimes, sir,” she answered, with mystery. “Two nights ago, now, I had a young lady in ’ere—a young lady you may know, sir, who was very much talked about last year, poor dear—”
Clifford’s sudden start into vivid interest made her break off and look at him attentively. She smiled knowingly.
“Maybe you know who I mean, sir?”
“Miss Claris?” asked he, with as much apparent indifference as he could.
“Aye, sir. She was in my cottage over an hour, and sorry enough I felt for her, I must say, whatever people think.”
And the old woman, who probably knew more than she affected to do about Clifford and his feeling toward Miss Claris, gave a sigh, and again found relief in her feelings in a shake of the head.
“Where is she now? Do you know?” asked Clifford, no longer disguising his interest. “If it’s a secret,” he went on, as the old lady said nothing, “I think you will not do wrong in confiding it to me, as I wish her all the good in the world.”
“It’s well there’s some as do, sir,” said she, with a suddenly lowered voice. “And I don’t know as I’m doing harm in telling you she is staying at Courtstairs, up Paradise Hill, Number 45, sir. And you can tell her if you see her as I wouldn’t have told nobody but you.”