She mounted the steps that led up to the patch of garden, her keen, cold eyes everywhere at once. “A cat can’t sneeze without she ’ears ’im!” her villagers at Stoke Revel were wont to say, disappearing into their houses as rabbits into their burrows at sight of a terrier.
Old Elizabeth Prettyman stood at her 222 door, and it took some time to make her realize who her august visitor was. She was getting blind; she had never been a favourite with Mrs. de Tracy, nor had she entered Stoke Revel Manor since her nursling disgraced it by marrying a Bean. She curtseyed humbly to the great lady.
“There now, ma’am,” she said, “it’s not often we have seen you across the river. Will you please to come inside and sit down, ma’am? ’T is very warm this afternoon, it is.” She was a good deal fluttered in her welcome, for there was that in Mrs. de Tracy’s air that seemed to bode misfortune.
“I shall sit down for a few minutes, Elizabeth,” was the reply, “while I explain my visit to you.”
Mrs. Prettyman stood aside respectfully, and Mrs. de Tracy swept past her into the cottage and seated herself there. It never occurred to her to ask the old woman to sit down in her own house; she expected her to stand throughout the interview. Without 223 further preamble, then, Mrs. de Tracy came to the point:––
“Elizabeth,” she said, “I have come to tell you that I am going to sell the land on which this cottage stands, and that you will have to find some other home.”
The old woman did not understand for a minute. “You be going to sell the land, ma’am?” she repeated stupidly.
“Yes, I am. A gentleman from London wishes to buy it; you will need to go.”
“A gentleman from London! Lor, ma’am, no gentleman from London wouldn’t live ’ere!” Elizabeth cried, perfectly dazed by the statement.
Mrs. de Tracy repeated: “It is not your business, Elizabeth, what he intends to do with the place; all you have to do is to remove from the house.”