"He must be a swell—he's a 'Sir,' anyhow. You know, I've got an idea that you and your father are swells, too. Why, you and Miss Barton are as different as chalk from cheese—there isn't any looking at her when you are there."
Margaret walked on without a word, but he followed her meekly; it was all the same to Mr. Garratt.
"You're a downright beauty, that's what I think. I say! There's Hannah standing by the porch, looking out," for by this time they were within half a field and the length of the garden from the house. "She will be wild when she sees me walking with you, you know. Now, then," he added, touching his own shoulder with the crop in his hand as she made a sign of impatience, "don't be disagreeable again, there's a dear girl. Let's talk about the theatre; you like that, you know, and we've only got five minutes left. I'll tell you what you ought to have seen—'The School for Scandal,' and Miss Hunstan in it."
"Oh, did you see her!" Margaret exclaimed, and took a step nearer to him.
Hannah, watching from the porch, saw it. A deep pink came to her cheeks and to the tip of her nose. Some one in the best parlor, looking through the little lattice window, saw it, too, and drew conclusions.
"Oh, you want to know about her, do you?" Mr. Garratt said, triumphantly. "Now, why is that?"
"I met her at a friend's house when I was in London with father."
"Did you? Well, I wouldn't tell Hannah that if I were you; she'd ask them to put up a prayer in chapel for you."
"Tell me about Miss Hunstan—she played Lady Teazle—"
"Oh, you've heard about Lady Teazle, have you? Well, she was just splendid. You should have seen her chaff that old husband of hers, and the way she held her head when the screen fell. A friend of mine was over in New York when she first came out—fifteen years ago, now; getting on, isn't it?"