"Yes," said the farmer, "pretty well. Next best to havin' her, though it's a long way off that!"
"An old family, Mr. Blaize—is it not?" Richard asked in as careless a tone as he could assume.
"Gentlefolks—what's left of 'em," replied the farmer with an equally affected indifference.
"And that's her father?" said Richard, growing bolder to speak of her.
"That's her father, young gentleman!"
"Mr. Blaize," Richard turned to face him, and burst out, "where is she?"
"Gone, sir! packed off!—Can't have her here now." The farmer thrummed a step brisker, and eyed the young man's wild face resolutely.
"Mr. Blaize," Richard leaned forward to get closer to him. He was stunned, and hardly aware of what he was saying or doing: "Where has she gone? Why did she leave?"
"You needn't to ask, sir—ye know," said the farmer, with a side shot of his head.
"But she did not—it was not her wish to go?"