“If you please, miss, there’s that young man at the kitchen door.”
“That young man?”
“The soldier, miss; and he do look nice: Mr James Bell.”
There was a flush in Eliza’s face. It might have been that which fled from Claire’s, leaving it like ivory.
“Where is your master?”
“He went out on the parade, miss.”
“And Mr Morton?”
“Hush, miss! he said I wasn’t to tell. He bought two herrings of Fisherman Dick at the back door, and I believe he’ve gone to the end of the pier, fishing.”
“I’ll come down, Eliza.”
Eliza tripped off to hurry down to the handsome young dragoon waiting in the kitchen, and wonder whether he was Miss Claire’s sweetheart, and wish he were hers, for he did look so lovely in his uniform and spurs.