‘Now, perhaps you’ll allow us to go to the Abbey, cousin,’ observed Mr. Bolton, shaking in a volley of silent chuckles.
‘I am astonished at you, cousin,’ was all the answer he received, as Miss Margaret, with her head in the air, floated towards the wicket leading to the Abbey.
But her head suddenly went down again as she recalled her niece’s words yesterday, ‘Don’t you see when you are being laughed at, aunt?’
‘Is it possible that Stott was laughing at me? Surely he would not have such insolence!’
Pondering upon this tremendous topic, she had eyes and ears for nothing else until Mr. Bolton observed:
‘You’ll walk into the river, cousin, directly. Would you like to go in, or shall we walk about till the young ones come back?’
‘Oh, they are all off, are they?’ she said, raising her head, and collecting her faculties again. ‘That gives me just the opportunity I wish for. Do you know what you are doing, Stephen?’
‘Doing? As how?’
‘In harbouring that young Wellfield in your house?’
‘I invited him to stay a few days, if that’s what you call “harbouring,” cousin.’