‘Miss Gruchette is here to keep the fowls?’ said Ethelberta, in a puzzled tone, after a survey.
‘Yes. But they don’t keep her.’
Ethelberta did not attempt to understand, and ceased to occupy her mind with the matter. They came from the cottage to the door, where she gave the woman a trifling sum, and turned to leave. But footsteps were at that moment to be heard beating among the leaves on the other side of the hollies, and Ethelberta waited till the walkers should have passed. The voices of two men reached herself and the woman as they stood. They were close to the house, yet screened from it by the holly-bushes, when one could be heard to say distinctly, as if with his face turned to the cottage—
‘Lady Mountclere gone for good?’
‘I suppose so. Ha-ha! So come, so go.’
The speakers passed on, their backs becoming visible through the opening. They appeared to be woodmen.
‘What Lady Mountclere do they mean?’ said Ethelberta.
The woman blushed. ‘They meant Miss Gruchette.’
‘Oh—a nickname.’
‘Yes.’