"So it seems Lady Verney has got a tenant in Malory?" he said at last.
"Yes, indeed, sir," she replied, in her most confidential manner; "and I hope—I do indeed—it may turn out such a thing as she would like."
Mrs. Jones usually spoke in low and significant tones, and with a mystery and caution worthy of deeper things than she often talked about.
"Why, is there anything odd?" asked the young gentleman curiously.
"Well, it is not, now, altogether what I would wish for Lady Verney. I haven't seen any of the Malory family, excepting in church to-day; not one, indeed, sir; they are very strange; they never come into the town—not once since ever they came to Malory! but dear me! you know, sir, that might be, and yet everything as we could wish, mightn't it; yes, sure; still, you know, people will be talking; it's a pity we don't mind our own business more, and let others be, isn't it, sir?"
"Great pity; but—but what's the matter?" urged Cleve Verney.
"Well, Master Cleve, you know, Cardyllian, and how we do talk here; I don't say more than other places, but we do, and I do not like repeatin' everything I hear. There's more mischief than good, I think, comes of repeatin' stories."
"Oh! come, pray what's the good of a story except to repeat it? I ought to know, perhaps I should tell Lady Verney about it," said Cleve, who was really curious, for nothing could be more quiet than the get up and demeanour of the ladies.
"They haven't been here, you know, very long," murmured Mrs. Jones, earnestly.
"No, I don't know. I know nothing about it; how long?"