“Come, aunt, darling,” said Polly, “make a good breakfast.”
“Tinner you mean, child,” said the old lady.
“Well, dinner, dear,” said Polly, “because I want a long talk with you before we go.”
“You’re coing away, then?”
“Yes, aunt, for a month; but you’ll stay till we come back?”
“Well, I ton’t know, look you,” said the old lady, sturdily. “Chane Lloyd and I never tid get on well together; but if Mr Richard Trevor there isn’t too prout to ask a poor old woman off the mountains—who nursed his poor mother, and tantled him in her arms when he was a paby—I teclare to cootness I will stay.”
A dead silence fell upon the group at the table. Humphrey seemed uncomfortable, Polly clung to his arm, Mrs Lloyd looked white and downcast, and her husband glanced at the door, and motioned a servant who was entering to retire.
Richard broke the silence, after giving a reassuring smile to Humphrey and his wife, by saying, gravely—
“I would ask you to stay with pleasure, Mrs Price, if I were master here, but you are mistaken. There sits Mr Humphrey Trevor; I am your own kith and kin, Richard Lloyd.”
“Chut!—chut!—chut!” exclaimed the old lady, starting up and speaking angrily, as she pointed at him with one finger. “Who ever saw a Lloyd or a Price with a nose like that? Ton’t tell me! You’re Mr Richard Trevor, your father’s son, and as much like him, look you, as two peas.”