Minna winked at Frederic. He had often talked to her about old Lawrie, and she had discovered that the name of the young acolyte at St. Saviour’s was Bennett Lawrie, old James’ third son.
“I say,” said Frederic, “does Serge know we’re here?”
“No. The letter was forwarded from St. Withans.”
“Don’t you think you ought to let him know what he’s in for?”
“I can’t do that. He gave no address.”
“It won’t matter to him if he’s rich,” said Minna, and they all fell to and rummaged their memories for recollections of Serge as a boy. Minna invented lavishly and suddenly she shouted:
“Did he say whether he’d got a wife?”
“I bet it’s a blackamoor like old Nicholas Folyat,” said Frederic.
“Even if she is black,” said Mrs. Folyat solemnly, “if he is married to her she will be my daughter-in-law and I shall receive her.”
The conversation took on a broad complexion which is more permissible in the family circle than in the printed page.