"I really do not understand you, sir," was her laconic reply:—nor more she did, good woman! for it was not even probable that Mr. Banks quite understood himself.
"Now, sir, will you have the goodness to explain the nature of your business with me—since it is with me, no doubt, that you have business to transact?" said the farmer, in a tone which showed how disagreeable the undertaker's whining nonsense was to him.
"Something tells me that this man's visit bears reference to our adventure of the morning," whispered Ellen to Katherine. "Do not offer to leave the room: let us hear all he has to say."
Katherine replied by a meaning look, and then glanced with suspicious timidity towards Banks, who was again speaking.
"My business isn't to be explained in a moment, sir," said the undertaker; "and I must beg your patience for a little while."
"Go on," exclaimed the farmer, throwing himself back in his seat, and folding his arms with the desperate air of a man who knew that he could only get rid of a troublesome visitor by allowing him to tell his story in his own way.
"You're in mourning, ma'am, I see," observed Mr. Banks, turning towards Mrs. Bennet. "Ah! I remember—that wexatious affair of the Rector of Saint David's. Pray, ma'am, who undertook the funeral of your blessed defunct sister?"
"Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, tears starting into her eyes.
"No offence, ma'am—no offence. Only I should like it to be known in these here parts that Edward Banks—of Globe Lane, London, undertakes on new and economic principles, and doesn't mind distances. S'pose, sir," continued this most disagreeable visitor, again addressing the farmer, "s'pose you come to me some fine morning and says, 'Banks,' says you, 'my dear wife has just become a blessed defunct——'"