"Her family went to Australia, and they are quite rich people now: no more cooks than you and me," said Sarah, gravely. "But Happy Jack won't leave Youlestone, though he says they tempted him with untold gold. And he wouldn't touch his hat to Sir Timothy, because he was his cousin. That was another skeleton."
"But a very small one," said John, laughing.
"It might seem small to us, but I'm sure it was one reason why Sir
Timothy never went outside his own gates if he could help it," said
Sarah, shrewdly. "Luckily the cook died when he was born."
"Why luckily, poor thing?" said John, indignantly.
"She wouldn't have had much of a time, would she, do you think, with Sir Timothy's sisters?" asked Sarah, with simplicity. "They were in the schoolroom when their papa married her, or I am sure they would never have allowed it. Their own mother was a most select person; and little thought when she gave the orders for dinner, and all that, who the old gentleman's next wife would be," said Sarah, giggling. "They always talk of her as the Honourable Rachel, since Lady Crewys, you know, might just as well mean the cook. I suppose the old squire got tired of her being so select, and thought he would like a change. He was a character, you know. I often think Peter will be a character when he grows old. He is so disagreeable at times."
"I thought you were so fond of Peter?" said John, looking amusedly down on the little chatterbox beside him.
"Not exactly fond of him. It's just that I'm used to him," said Sarah, colouring all over her clear, fresh face, even to the little tendrils of red hair on her white neck.
She wore a blue cotton frock, and a brown mushroom hat, with a wreath of wild roses which had somewhat too obviously been sewn on in a hurry and crookedly; and she looked far more like a village schoolgirl than a young lady who was shortly to make her début in London society. But he was struck with the extraordinary brilliancy of her complexion, transparent and pure as it was, in the searching sunlight.
"If she were not so round-shouldered—if the features were better—her expression softer," said John to himself—"if divine colouring were all—she would be beautiful."
But her wide, smiling mouth, short-tipped nose, and cleft chin, conveyed rather the impression of childish audacity than of feminine charm. The glance of those bright, inquisitive eyes was like a wild robin's, half innocent, half bold. Though her round throat were white as milk, and though no careless exposure to sun and wind had yet succeeded in dimming the exquisite fairness of her skin, yet the defects and omissions incidental to extreme youth, country breeding, and lack of discipline, rendered Miss Sarah not wholly pleasing in John's fastidious eyes. Her carriage was slovenly, her ungloved hands were red, her hair touzled, and her deep-toned voice over-loud and confident. Yet her frankness and her trustfulness could not fail to evoke sympathy.