“And Miss Violet must find this very dull—I’ve no right to keep her here. She would be happier in some other home, poor child. I’m but a dismal companion, and how long is it since young Mr. Trevor was here? You don’t remember—there, don’t try, but it must be three weeks or more, and—and I do think he was very attentive. I mean, Winnie, but you are to say nothing below stairs, you know—I mean, I really think he was in love with Miss Vi.”
“Well, indeed, they did talk about it—the neighbours; there was talk, a deal o’ talk, and I don’t know, but I often thought she liked him.”
“Well, that’s off too, quite, I think; you know it is very rude, impertinent, in fact, his never having called here once, or done more than just raise his hat to us in the church door on Sundays, ever since William Maubray went away. I look upon his conduct as altogether outrageous, and being the kind of person he is, I’m very glad he disclosed himself so early, and certainly it would have been a thousand pities the girl should have ever thought of him. So that’s over too, and all the better it is, and I begin to grow tired of the whole thing—very tired, Winnie; and I believe the people over there,” and she nodded toward the church-yard, “are best provided for, and it’s time, Winnie, I should be thinking of joining them where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”
“God forbid, Ma’am!” remonstrated old Winnie, mildly, and they turned together from the window to accomplish Aunt Dinah’s toilet.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE PIPING BULLFINCH
Next Sunday Mr. Vane Trevor, after church, happened to be carried in one of the converging currents of decently-dressed Christianity into the main channel through the porch, almost side by side with the two Gilroyd ladies then emerging.