But Mollie was obviously longing to say something, and when the time came that she met Jack Melland’s eye she suddenly plucked up courage to put it into words.
“Don’t you think we ought to introduce ourselves properly?” she cried eagerly. “We have been told each other’s names, and talked politely at dinner, but that’s not really being introduced. We ought to know something about each other, if we are to be companions here. I don’t know if you two know each other; but we did not know of your existence until to-day. My mother used to stay at the Court when she was a bride, and she loved Aunt Edna, and has often talked to us about her; but she knew very little of her relations, and for the last twenty years or more she has never seen Uncle Bernard until he suddenly descended upon us last week.
“We live in the North—in Liverpool. People in the South seem to think it is a dreadful place; but it isn’t at all. The river is splendid, and out in the suburbs, where we live, it’s very pretty, near a beautiful big park. The people are nice, too. We are rather conceited about ourselves in comparison with the people in the towns round about. You have heard the saying, ‘Manchester man, Liverpool gentleman,’ and we are proud of our county, too. ‘What Lancashire thinks to-day, England thinks to-morrow.’ I really must boast a little bit, because South-country people are so proud and superior, and seem to think that no one but themselves knows how to speak or behave. Someone said to me once, ‘You live in Liverpool, then why haven’t you a Lancashire accent?’ I was so cross. What should she have thought of me if I had said, ‘You live in London, why don’t you speak like a Cockney?’ We are not at all ashamed, but very proud indeed, of coming from the North-countree.”
“‘Oh, the oak and the ash,
And the bonnie ivy tree,’”
chanted Victor, in a pleasant baritone voice, at the sound of which Mollie flushed with delight, and cried eagerly—
“Ah, you are musical! That’s nice. We must have some grand singing matches, but you mustn’t sing that ballad. It’s Ruth’s special property. She sings it with such feeling!
“‘And the lad that marries me,
Must carry me home to my North-coun-tree!’”
“Mollie!” Ruth’s tone was eloquent of reproof, but Mollie only laughed, and said easily—
“Oh well, of course, if you inherit the Court you will have to change your plans. I wish I could lift it up bodily and put it down among the dear Westmorland mountains; but I’m afraid that’s impossible. I think that is all the history we have. No two girls could possibly have led a less eventful life. We have had no money to travel and see the world, and we are not in the least bit accomplished, but we have had a happy time all the same, and we mean to be happy, whatever happens; don’t we, Ruth?”
Ruth did not answer, but sat with downcast eyes, staring at the ground. She more than half disapproved of Mollie’s candour, despising herself the while for so doing, so she preserved a dead silence, until Jack Melland nobly stepped into the breach.