He was very affable and chatty, not only to me, but to everybody, and we all liked him very much. Of an evening, he said he felt lonely in his sitting-room, so he would come down and sit in the bar-parlour, and have his pipe and talk with Mr. Wilkins, and the one or two of our neighbours that made it a sort of a local club.
He was a very nice talker, and full of anecdotes. So he soon got to be quite a favourite, and Mr. Wilkins told him about the people in the neighbourhood, and of course that story about the Squire’s room that I told you when I began these Memoirs.
He said it was a very pretty story, and then he asked about the people who lived at the Hall now. “Oh,” said Mr. Wilkins, “it’s the eldest son of the Phillipses, the wholesale clothes people, who lives there now. The old people are dead, and he’s the master of the place, and lives there with his family. They’re very rich, for his father made an immense fortune in business.” (Mr. Phillips was the gentleman I told you about who comes and talks to Harry sometimes about foreign parts, through having run away to sea himself when a boy.)
“Is he married?” said the London physician.
“Oh yes,” I said, joining in the conversation; “he married a very rich young lady, and has a large family.”
“Let’s see,” he said, “she was a Miss Jacobs, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, sir; that was the name. She’s a very beautiful woman. I’ve got a picture of her in an illustrated newspaper, if you’d like to see it.”
“Thank you, I should very much.”
I went and got out a back number of an illustrated lady’s paper that had Mrs. Phillips in it, sketched at the Lord Mayor’s ball.
“That’s her, sir,” I said, pointing to her picture; “but she’s really handsomer than she looks here. That dress was made for her in Paris, it says here. Everybody noticed her at the ball, not only because she was so beautiful, but because of her diamonds. They say she’s got the finest jewellery in the county.”