“If we meet him I’ll introduce him to you.”
“What’s his name, dear?”
“Sir Richard Pelham.”
“Aye, that’s a pretty name; and you’re not married more than two months?”
“No.”
“I hope you’ll be happy, Lady Pelham, and you has my best wishes. Oh, is this the house?”
They were turning a corner of the avenue as the old woman spoke, and now the magnificent old pile, gray with age, appeared in view. Mrs. Ives dropped a succession of curtseys with great rapidity.
“It’s my way of expressing my feelings,” she said, looking at Barbara. “It’s a magnificent place, and you must be proud of it.”
“Not at all. Sometimes one feels both pleasure and pain in possessing a place of this sort.”
“Oh, that’s because you’re young to it,” said Mrs. Ives. “You’ll soon get accustomed, mark my words. Of course, only being wedded two months, you naturally feel a bit strange. Perhaps afore you was married you was a poor girl like my Clary.”