“But what is it that people have been saying, Mrs. Cramp?” struck in the Squire. “These boys have heard something or other.”
“What’s said is, that there’s something queer about the lady,” replied Mrs. Cramp. “I can’t make it out myself, Squire. Some people say she’s pig-faced.”
“Pig-faced!”
“Well, they do. Last night I heard she was black. And, putting two and two together, as one can’t help doing in such a case, I don’t like that report at all.”
The Squire stared—and began thinking. He believed he knew what Mrs. Cramp meant.
“Well, I went there, and rang,” she resumed. “And they opened the door a couple of inches and talked to me over the chain: some sour-faced woman-servant of middle age. I told her I had come to see my tenant—her mistress; she answered that her mistress could not be seen, and shut the door in my face.”
Mrs. Cramp untied her white satin bonnet-strings, tilted back her bonnet, caught up the painted fan, fellow to the one Coralie was handling, and fanned herself while she talked.
“As long as it was said the lady was pig-faced and hid herself from people’s eyes accordingly, I thought little of it, you understand, Squire; but if she is black, that’s a different matter. It sets one fearing that some scandal may come of it. The Miss Dennets would drop down in a fit on the spot if they heard that person had got into their house.”
Coralie laughed.