“You have really said enough to excite my curiosity,” said her mistress; “pray send for her immediately; we can see her before we go out to walk.”
The benevolent housekeeper despatched her boy Philip for Susan, who never happened to be in such an untidy state as to be unable to obey a summons without a long preparation. She had, it is true, been very busy; but orderly people can be busy and neat at the same time. She put on her usual straw hat, and accompanied Rose’s mother, who was going with a basket of cleared muslin to the Abbey.
The modest simplicity of Susan’s appearance and the artless propriety of the answers she gave to all the questions that were asked her, pleased the ladies at the Abbey, who were good judges of character and manners.
Sir Arthur Somers had two sisters, sensible, benevolent women. They were not of that race of fine ladies who are miserable the moment they come to the country; nor yet were they of that bustling sort, who quack and direct all their poor neighbours, for the mere love of managing, or the want of something to do. They were judiciously generous; and whilst they wished to diffuse happiness, they were not peremptory in requiring that people should be happy precisely their own way. With these dispositions, and with a well informed brother, who, though he never wished to direct, was always willing to assist in their efforts to do good, there were reasonable hopes that these ladies would be a blessing to the poor villagers amongst whom they were now settled.
As soon as Miss Somers had spoken to Susan, she inquired for her brother; but Sir Arthur was in his study, and a gentleman was with him on business.
Susan was desirous of returning to her mother, and the ladies therefore would not detain her. Miss Somers told her, with a smile, when she took leave, that she would call upon her in the evening at six o’clock.
It was impossible that such a grand event as Susan’s visit to the Abbey could long remain unknown to Barbara Case and her gossiping maid. They watched eagerly for the moment of her return, that they might satisfy their curiosity. “There she is, I declare, just come into her garden,” cried Bab; “I’ll run in and get it all out of her in a minute.”
Bab could descend, without shame, whenever it suited her purposes, from the height of insolent pride to the lowest meanness of fawning familiarity.
Susan was gathering some marigolds and some parsley for her mother’s broth.
“So, Susan,” said Bab, who came close up to her before she perceived it, “how goes the world with you to-day?”