And she gave him her hand with a sort of curtsey. It was a pretty greeting, although somewhat mannered; and Dick felt himself among the gods. She led him through the kitchen to a parlour, and presented him to Miss M’Glashan.
“Esther,” said the aunt, “see and make Mr. Naseby his tea.”
As soon as the girl was gone upon this hospitable intent, the old woman crossed the room and came quite near to Dick as if in menace.
“Ye know that man?” she asked, in an imperious whisper.
“Mr. Van Tromp?” said Dick. “Yes; I know him.”
“Well, and what brings ye here?” she said. “I couldn’t save the mother—her that’s dead—but the bairn!” She had a note in her voice that filled poor Dick with consternation. “Man,” she went on, “what is it now? Is it money?”
“My dear lady,” said Dick, “I think you misinterpret my position. I am young Mr. Naseby of Naseby House. My acquaintance with Mr. Van Tromp is really very slender; I am only afraid that Miss Van Tromp has exaggerated our intimacy in her own imagination. I know positively nothing of his private affairs, and do not care to know. I met him casually in Paris—that is all.”
Miss M’Glashan drew a long breath. “In Paris?” she said. “Well, and what do you think of him?—what do ye think of him?” she repeated, with a different scansion, as Richard, who had not much taste for such a question, kept her waiting for an answer.
“I found him a very agreeable companion,” he said.
“Ay,” said she, “did ye! And how does he win his bread?”