“No; at Axbridge, a little place not far off. But I had an uncle at Cheddar, a farmer, and very often stayed with him. My brother is farming there now.”
“Axbridge? Here is a view of the market-place. What a delightful old town!”
“One of the sleepiest spots in England, I should say. The railway goes through it now, but hasn’t made the slightest difference. Nobody pulls down or builds; nobody opens a new shop; nobody thinks of extending his trade. A delicious place!”
“But surely you find no pleasure in that kind of thing, Miss Nunn?”
“Oh yes—at holiday time. I shall doze there for a fortnight, and forget all about the “so-called nineteenth century.””
“I can hardly believe it. There will be a disgraceful marriage at this beautiful old church, and the sight of it will exasperate you.”
Rhoda laughed gaily.
“Oh, it will be a marriage of the golden age! Perhaps I shall remember the bride when she was a little girl; and I shall give her a kiss, and pat her on the rosy cheek, and wish her joy. And the bridegroom will be such a good-hearted simpleton, unable to pronounce f and s. I don’t mind that sort of marriage a bit!”
The listeners were both regarding her—Miss Barfoot with an affectionate smile, Everard with a puzzled, searching look, ending in amusement.
“I must run down into that country some day,” said the latter.