'I believe he is fond of her in his own way; he can hardly help being proud of her. You see, he lost his two boys when they were lads in a dreadful way; they were both drowned in bathing, and he has never got over their loss; it is really very hard for him, especially as his wife died not very long afterwards. They say the shock killed her.'
'Poor man, he has known no ordinary trouble. I can understand how lonely it must be for her.'
'Yes, it is all the worse that she does not care for the people about here. With the exception of us and the Delawares, she has no friends—no intimate friends, I mean.'
'Her exclusiveness is to blame, then; our neighbours seem really very kind-hearted.'
'Yes, but they are not her sort. I think you like the Delawares yourself, Aunt Milly?'
'Very much. I was just going to ask you more about them. Mrs. Delaware is very nice, but it struck me that she is not equal to her husband.'
'No; he is a fine fellow. You see, she was only a yeoman's daughter, and he educated her to be his wife.'
'That accounts for her homely speech.'
'My father married them. She was a perfect little rustic beauty, he says. She ran away from school twice, and at last told Mr. Delaware that he might marry her or not as he pleased, but she would have no more of the schooling; if she were not nice enough for him, she was for Farmer Morrison of Wharton Hall, and of course that decided the question.'
'I hope she makes him a good wife.'