CHAPTER II.
AT THE GARDEN-DOOR.
"To die—to sleep.
To sleep! perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come"—
The family at Ivy Lodge gathered round the tea-table with spirits rather whetted, apparently for both talking and eating. Certainly the one exercise had been intermitted for some hours; the other however had gone on without cessation. It went on still. The party was now reduced to the home party, with the addition of Miss Broadus; which lady, with her sister, was at home at Ivy Lodge, as she was everywhere else. Elderly, respectable and respected old ladies they were; and though they dealt in gossip, would not willingly have hurt a fly. They dealt in receipts and in jellies too; in fashions, and in many kindnesses, both received and given by all the neighbourhood. They were daughters of a former rector of the parish, and poor, and asked nobody to help them; which indeed they had no need to ask.
"You seemed to like your afternoon's acquaintance, papa?" said Eleanor.
"He is a fine fellow," said the squire. "He's a fine fellow. Knows something. My dear, he teaches a small school at Wiglands, I hear."
"Does he. I wonder who goes to it," said Mrs. Powle.
"I don't know," said the squire; "but I mean to send Alfred."
"My dear Mr. Powle! to such a school as that? Nobody can go to it but some of the farmers' children around—there is no one else."
"It won't hurt him, for a little while," said the squire. "I like the master, and that's of more importance than the children. Don't you worry."