"Jo," he said, "it's true—true, after all."
"Eh, what?" said Joey, busy preparing Bill's dinner in a plate with a special high edge.
"I wouldn't believe it—actually betted against it," continued her husband, chuckling, "but it's gospel truth. Old Gaunt's gone and got married."
"Go on! Pulling my leg!" observed Joey, with equal elegance and good humour.
"My girl, I've seen 'em—actually seen 'em together. Came up just as he was at his drive gate—telling Caunter something. She was sitting in the trap beside him, and—Jee-rusalem, she's a peach, if you like!"
"Percy, you are the limit. Remember the boys."
"Lucky little beggars, they aren't old enough to suffer like their daddy. I tell you I've never seen anything quite like her. She looks as if a breath would blow her away—like what the serials call a vision from another world. And old Gaunt sitting there beside her, looking as if he would like to lay forcible hands on my windpipe. Old Gaunt. Help!"
"Well, I never," said Joey, deeply impressed. "It may be a bit of all right for us, if she's a decent sort. Nearest neighbours, aren't we?"
"My dear, there's nothing else within miles of her. I believe the Chase is next nearest. By the bye, think I'll ride over there this afternoon and tell her ladyship the news. Come with me, old girl?"
"I believe I will," said Joey. "Let's see, what's the first day it will be decent to call at Omberleigh?"