Then Josiah Kettle unfortunately blustered.
“If you will not, young madam,” he cried, “I can soon send them to you who will make you answer.”
The young lady calmly took out of her pocket a dainty pair of ivory writing tablets, such as only the minister of the parish used in all Eden Valley, and he only because he had married a great London lady for his wife.
“I shall be glad of the name and address of the persons to whom you refer!” said Miss Irma (for so from that moment I began to call her in my heart).
“The factors and agents for this estate,” Josiah Kettle enunciated grandly. The writing tablets were shut up with a snap of disappointment.
“Oh, Messrs. Smart, Poole & Smart,” she said. “Why, I have known them ever since I was as high as little Louis.”
Then she smiled indulgently upon Mr. Kettle, with something so easily grand and yet so sweet that I think the hearts of all went out to her.
“I suppose,” she said, “that really you thought you were doing right in coming here and firing off guns without permission. It must be an astonishing thing for you to see this house of the Maitlands inhabited after so long. I do not blame your curiosity, but I fear I must ask you to send a competent man to repair our windows. For that we hold you responsible, Mr. Officer, and you, Mr. Justice of the Peace—you and your son Jo! Don’t we, Louis?”
“I will see to that myself!” a voice, the same that had spoken before, came from the crowd. Miss Irma searched the circle without, however, coming to a conclusion. I do think that her glance lingered longer on my face than on any of the others, perhaps because Gerty Greensleeves was leaning on my shoulder and whispering in my ear. (What a nuisance girls are, sometimes!) So the glance passed on, with something in it at once calm and simple and high.
“If any of the gentlefolk of our station will call upon us,” she went on, “we will tell them how we came to be here—the clergyman of the parish—or——” here she hesitated for the first time, “or his wife.”