“I hear that Mr Miller is at the Manor House just now. I learnt so yesterday.”
“An’ so did I,” was his reply. “Dear me! wonders ’ull never cease. Fancy Mr Miller coming back again! An’ they say that Miss Lucie’s a-comin’, too.”
“Is she his daughter?” I inquired, as though in ignorance.
“Of course she is; an’ a very good girl, too. When she’s ’ere—which ain’t very often, more’s the pity—she does a great deal of good in the village—visits the old people, looks after the coal club, and gives away quite a lot of money to the deserving people who are destitute. I only wish there were more like ’er in these ’ere parts.”
“Does she often come here?”
“Oh! two or three times a year,” answered the landlord. “Some say she lives up in London with ’er aunt, and others declare that she’s mostly abroad with ’er father. I believe the latter story. She ’as a foreign way about ’er, and I’ve ’eard the servants say as ’ow all ’er things are made abroad.”
“Then nobody knows her address?” I said.
“Seems not. But she’s very fond of ’er father, and no doubt is always with him.”
“Do they have many friends at the Manor when Mr Miller and his daughter are at home?”
“Not many. Dr Haviland often dines with ’em.”