'On the contrary, it is rather a favourite study of mine; go on, Richard. I want to know how Kirkby Stephen got its name.'
'I must quote my father again, then. He thinks the victorious Danes found a kirk with houses near it, and called the place Kirkby, and they afterwards learnt that the church was dedicated to St. Stephen, the proto-martyr, and then added his name to distinguish it from the other Kirkbys.'
'It must have been rather a different church, Richard.'
'I see I must go on quoting. He says, "We can almost picture to ourselves that low, narrow, quaint old church, with its rude walls and thatched roof." But, Aunt Milly, we must be thinking of returning, if we are to call on the Trelawnys. By the bye, what do you think of them?'
'Of Mr. Trelawny, you mean, for I certainly did not exchange three words with his daughter.'
'I noticed she was very silent; she generally is when he is present. What a pity it is they do not understand each other better.'
He seemed waiting for her to speak, but Mildred, who was taking a last lingering look at the ruin, was slow to respond.
'He seems very masterful,' she said at last when they had entered the pony-carriage, and were driving homewards.
'Yes, and what is worse, so narrow in his views. He is very kind to me, and I get on with him tolerably well,' continued Richard, modestly; 'but I can understand the repressing influence under which she lives.'
'It seems so strange for a father not to understand his daughter.'