“Oh, marry, sir; bless you! No, it ain’t gone so far as that,” Mrs. Boardman cried. And she had to protest that there was nothing but “idle tales” in what she had said—her own silly fancies, as she added, with anxious humility, and bits of gossip among the servants. “You won’t say as I said it, sir,” she added. “I wouldn’t be the one to make mischief for all the world, nor vex Miss Dolly, so good as she is; and most likely my lady wouldn’t like it—and I don’t say nothing for Mr. Paul neither. He is mostly away; it isn’t what you could call keeping company. Oh, if us women hadn’t got no tongues, what a deal o’ mischief’d be spared!’
“That’s what I’m always telling you,” said John.
“And the men’s worse,” said his wife, going on. “Us women, we lets a thing slip, and never thinks; but the bad stories, them as sets folks by the ears, they always comes from the men.”
This amused Mr. Markham Gaveston greatly. He clapped his hands and encouraged them both to continue.
“At her, John!” he said, behind the good woman’s back; but John shook his head and retired. He knew better.
And Mrs. Boardman wiped her hands on her apron, and went off “to see to my dinner.” The dinner naturally was not hers, but her guest’s, who was a small eater—much too small an eater; a single chop was all he had for lunch, a chicken served him two days for dinner. There was little credit in cooking for any one who was so easily satisfied. To be sure he had suggested one or two eccentric dishes to her when he came, which Mrs. Boardman had never heard of, and which she had declared could not be half so good for any one’s “innards” as a plain joint; but since that the stranger had made no remarks, eating what was set before him without remonstrance, but too little of it to please his hostess. He was much more greedy of news than he was of his dinner; and this last piece of information cost him a great deal of thought.
Next day, the third day of his stay at Markham Royal, Dolly Stainforth had a little expedition to make by railway. Though she was far from being an emancipated young lady, and though her father was very careful that she should have in general all the guardianship that her position required, yet to be always accompanied by a servant on the little journeys which she made periodically to see an old aunt only two stations off was a burden Dolly could not consent to: for which reason it had become the habit at Markham Royal to appropriate a vacant carriage to the use of ladies—a carriage over which the guard was supposed to watch, defending it from all male intruders. In this compartment old George, the man-servant at the rectory, carefully placed his young mistress; and all went on as usual till the very moment before the train started, when old George was gone, and the attention of the guard distracted; when the door of Dolly’s carriage was suddenly, swiftly, noiselessly opened, and a little gentleman, in loose, light-coloured clothes, jumped in.
Dolly was so much startled that it was a minute before she found her breath, and in that minute the train had glided from the station.
“I fear I have frightened you,” the stranger said.
Dolly was not at all frightened, but she was true to her father’s precautions.